I
ROBERT SiLVERfifcRG . CHARLES STEARNS. CHARLES F
SATURN
MAGAZINE OF £C:ENCE-FlCT;ON AND FANTASY
VOL. 1. No. 5 MARCH, 1900
A CONTENTS
RED FLAG OVER THE MOON by Romney Boyd 4
THE ORZU PROBLEM by Lloyd Biggie, ]r 12
THE SKITZ AND THEJ/NSKITZ by Jefferson Highe 25
SPUTNIK SHOES by Charles A. Steams 39
THE POWDER OF HYPERBOREA by Clark Ashton Smith .... 52
NEVER MARRY A VENERIAN by Charles L. Fontenay 63
REQUIEM FOR A SMALL PLANET by Ray Cummin gs 66
THE STARS ARE WAITING by Marion Timmer Bradley 84
ALAREE by Robert Silverberg 95
SHAGGY DOG by Charles E. Fritch 109
Editor and Publisher ROBERT C. SPROUL
Art Director V WILLIAM CLARK
* 1
\ Editorial Consultant DONALD A. WOLLHEIM
SATURN, MAGAZINE OF SCIENCE FICTION AND FANTASY is published bi-
monthly by OASDAR PUBLISHING C.OMPA.NY, INC., at 1 Appleton Street, Holvoke,
MitSo. Editorial office, 218 W. 48 St., New York 36, N. Y. Copyright 1958 by CANDAR
PUBLISHING CO., INC. Entered as Second Class Matter at the Post Office at Holy-
oke, Mass. Single copy 35c; Subscriptions: Yearly (6 issues) : U. S. and possessions
$2.00: Canada $2.25; Foreign $2.50. Ail material submitted must be accompanied by
aelf-addreflaed, stamped envelope. The publishers assumes no responsibility for un-
solicited material. The names of all characters used in these stories are fictitious; any
rwambltuice to persons living or dead is coincidental. PRINTED IN THE U. S. A.
SATURN
PRESENTS THE
STARTLING FACTS
Attar Sputnik and Muttnik, what? Science-
fiction has been talking about space-flight for
years while the politicians laughed it off as
"Buck Rogers" stuff. SATURN dares to present
a realistic analysis of what the future of space-
flight is really going to be.
RED FLAG
OVER THE MOON
by ROMNEY BOYD
After Sputnik and Muttnik, whatZ Science-
tfiction has been talking about space-flight for
years jvhile the politicians goofed. SATURN
dares to present a grimly realistic analysis of
what the future of space-flight is really going
to be.
A MOUNTAIN of self-de-
c e p t i o n came crashing
down on the heads of the Wes-
tern world on October 4, 1957,
when the ominous beep-beep-
beep of a man-made moon
came circling the globe. For
that satellite, the first actual
step in the conquest of outer
space, was not — as ten thou-
sand science-fiction" stories
would have had it and as mil-
lions of lines of smug newspa-
per and magazine stories had
predicted- — was not an Ameri-
can invention.
Only a few weeks earlier
Russian claims to having per-
fected a powerful rocket ca-
pable of intercontinental cargo
travel (the cargo being, of
course, atomic warheads) were
pooh-poohed. From the White
House on down to the lowliest
politicos, the report was greet-
ed with shrugs, smiles of scorn
for such obvious poppycock,
and jeers that it was mere
propaganda. But as it turned
out the Soviets were not mak-
ing scarehead stories, they
were coldly stating facts.
They produced a rocket ca-
pable" of penetrating outer
space. They blasted off a mini-
ature globe many times heavier
than our most ambitious plans
had projected and at a higher
altitude — and they then said
that it was just an advance
trial, a mere preliminary to the
real thing.
And while the Russians were
preparing to complete this
first successful space break-
through, what were we doing?
4
RED FLAG OVER THE MOON
5
We had postponed our efforts
at putting up an earth satellite
from an indefinite time in the
fall of 1957 to an equally in-
definite time in the early sum-
mer of 1958. Our officials
were engaged in refereeing a
ridiculous dispute between the
Air Force and the Army as to
which of several half-finished
rocket programs should be
scrapped and which kept. The
earth satellite we planned and
couldn't bring about on sched-
ule was to be. a piddling little
thing of about twenty pounds,
to be sent up — if we were
lucky — to about three hundred
miles.
Of course once the Sputnik,
as the Soviets call their moon,
was up and going, there was
a great scurrying and to-do in
the circles of the brave gentle-
men who compose the United
States rocket leaders. Efforts
were made to say that, well,
the Russians were a little ahead
of, but not much — a few
months maybe — we weren't in
.» a race anyway — besides we'd
soon outstrip them with our
know-how.
The facts are otherwise. The
size and weight and height of
the Sputnik shows that the
Russians are not just a few
months ahead, but at least
two years ahead; that they
possess the means and tech-
nique to plan space operations
many times greater than those
in our present capacity; and
that they are forging ahead
without halt, without inter-de-
partmental arguments, and
without a lot of shoddy lobby-
ing to see into whose corpora-
tive pockets the .new "few bil-
lions of defense money is go-
ing to-be funnelled.
In plain language, this is all
going^to mean that the Rus-
sians are going to be the first
to conquer space, the first to
reach the moon, the first to set
up a permanent base on the
moon.
TWE ARE SORRY to have
to make this observation
so bluntly. But it is the pe-
culiar quality of a magazine of
this sort, a science-fiction mag-
azine whose readers are ac-
customed to view the future
with intelligent eyes rather
than with the blinkers (tjnat
'family" magazines impose, to
be able to present an unpleas-
ant aspect of the future in its
true light. .
I know that it" is possible
to raise objections, but for the
most part these objections will
be derived from the soft soap
that is going to be dished out
heavily by the culprits who
6
SATURN
were responsible for our fum-
bling failure to keep ahead of
the Soviets in a field where we
certainly once had a head start.
Raise these objections if you
will, but a two-year lead in
rocketry with the full con-
sciousness of the importance of
the outcome is not to be over-
come so easily. The Soviets,
having brought to world atten-
tion their leadership in the
field, must nov -^double their
national effort to keep it. You
can -f est assured that they^tnow
this and that, while we are
holding post-m o r t e m s and
emergency committee meetings,
they will be plunging ahead
with tests, plans, and vaster
engineering operations. They
have publicly stated their ob-
jectives — and stated them with-
out all the evasiveness we give
to ours.
The United States has the
means to make up the loss —
if time permits. We have an in-
dustrial apparatus far superior
v to . hat of the Soviets, but dp,
we have the time to spare?" 1
Are our leaders willing to take
a stand quick enough and firm
er. ^h? What is more — are
they willing to scrap fast some
of the rubbish they have clut-
tered up our rocket projects
with?
What exactly does a Soviet
victory in moon-flight mean?
Well, the moon is a permanent
fixed space platform, from
which every part of the Earth's
surface can be surveyed tele-
scopically down to the smallest
detail. To construct a telescope
in the low-gravity airlessness
of the moon's surface is a sim-
ple matter compared with tele-
scope construction on Earth.
With great ease and speed,
lenses can be arranged, on sim-
ple skeleton frameworks, vir-
tually fixed on the Earth —
which, please remember, is a
fixed object in the lunar skies.
Observations will be a hundred
times clearer there because of
the lack of an obscuring at-
mosphere.
It would be no problem to
set, almost at once a spy ob-
servatory on Luna that will be
able to spot every movement on
Earth of a troop of soldiers or
even of a single automobile.
There will be no military se-
crets left.
The next step, following the
observatory, would be the set-
ting of a rocket-artillery base
on the moon. From such a
point, it would be no problem
to fire direct rocket shots at
any activity on the Earth's
surface the Lunar Station
didn't like. What is more it
would be vastly difficult for
RED FLAG OYER THE MOON
7
the Earth to fire back.
In addition to these obvious
military advantages, there is
also the tremendous boost to
science that working on the
moon will give. Conditions of
matter in low gravity and in
outer space are still not sub-
ject to experiment to the
Earth-bound. The certainty of
making great discoveries, and
great strides in the conquest of
nature is taken for granted
once we have reached outer
space. The qualities of various
elements at temperatures near
absolute zero are already sus-
pected to hold tremendous po-
tentials for energy liberation —
and such temperatures could
be had without much difficulty
during the two-week long lunar
nights. The world's chemists
would sell their souls for a
chance at such experimentation.
The Russians, who have had
a bug on engineering education
(they are outstripping us in
the number of srudents and
graduates — another scandal)
since 1945, know all about
"* these possibilities. They are
giving their rocket and space
travel men the same type of
high priority drive that the
U.S.A. gave the atomic bomb
project during World War II.
The cold fact is that Soviet
achievement of the moon is
going to make them the mas-
ters of the Earth. They know
it — and what is worse, until
October 4, 1957, apparently
the Pentagon didn't know it.
TTHERE ARE men among
the rocket engineers of
America who*" knew thi*. too.
Such men as G. Harry Stine,
whose book EARTH SATEL-
LITES AND THE RACE
FOR SPACE SUPERIORITY,
published by Ace Books short-
ly before the advent of the
Sputnik, put the case with
clarity and passion. In his
unique thirty-five cent news-
stand paperback, Stine out--
lined what America planned to
do in the launching of its own
earth satellite, the Vanguard,
and then went on to outline
what American engineers saw
as the next steps along the
line.
These steps consisted of ad-
vanced designs of cargo-carry-
ing rockets and man-car r^rjng,
rockets — the ICBM — and then
oi a vast and elaborate proj-
ect to construct a manned
space station — an Earth Sat-
ellite as large as a small tity,
with a permanent crew of en-
gineers and researchers. This
space station in turn would
serve as the place where the
first moon-exploration rockets
8
SATURN
would be put together and then
launched. It would act to serve
the same defensive and re-
search purposes that the moon
would serve.
Possibly- this is still the of-
ficial United States program.
If it is, it is going to be too
badger us. Because the Rus-
sians stated the answer quite
clearly a few* months ago. One
of their scientists "pointed out
that construct"^ of this colos-
sal space platform was a waste
of* time and an evasion 'of the
obvious. For the obvious, said
this Soviet rocketman, is that
a really permanent and stable
space platform already exists
—and that was Luna itself.
The Russian logic called for
by-passing any such man-made
platform and for setting up
shop without delay on the
moon itself.
The sense here should be
self-evident. Stine admits in
his book (which is must read-
N ing( for everyone interested in
this space race) that his space
station is entirely indefensible
in time of war. At the very out-
break of hostilities it could be
blasted from existence by one
easily aimed H-bomb warhead
rocket (since its orbit would be
but a few hundred miles from
Earth). But the moon, old
Luna, cannot be knocked out
of the sky no matter how many
H-bombs we plaster its surface
with. It is a permanent station
in the sky. If shelled from
Earth, the occupants have
merely to set up their posts on
the other side of the moon, the
side forever turned away from
Earth, and they will be safe
from all that Earth-stationed
enemies can do.
In his book Stine outlines
with great ingenuity and en-
thusiasm the plan for the con-
struction of this space plat-
form. This is basically the one
originated by Darrell C. Ro-
mick. It calls for the construc-
tion of this city in the sky by
the piecing together of hun-
dreds of thousands of small
sections, each transported up
to orbit by means of huge
three-stage rockets. It would
call for the construction of
these rockets in mass quantity
— about as many as an auto-
mobile plant can turn out cars !
The cost V-:ould be in the bil-
lions and the task would take
about four years to complete.
Four years to complete, bil-
lions in costs, and not worth
a single cent in wartime! No
wonder the Russians are smil-
ing today. They have stated
their objective — the moon it-
self. They are driving for it
in the most direct fashion.
RED FLAG OVER THE MOON
9
Their plans call for the fur-
therance of multi-stage rock-
ets capable of delivering a car-
go-head vast distances. They
claim to have already pro-
duced the ICBM, and their
claim includes an invention that
will deliver it with precision on
any target they name. The fact
that their present rocket
strength is sufficient to lift an
object of 184 pounds a height
of five hundred and sixty miles,
and impart to it a speed of
18,000 miles per hour, proves
that they have the ability. It
is simple mathematics to figure
out what the same rocket pow-
er could do in lifting an object
that might weigh only five or
ten pounds. Considering that
each pound of payload calls for
hundreds of pounds of fuel,
obviously this rocket is quite
capable, as it now stands, of
delivering an object — a tiny
one — to the moon itself. Or
around the moon. Or on its
way to the planet Venus.
Such are actually their an-
nounced plans. They will first
"*"send robot rockets around the
moon for observation. Then
they will send one or two on
to Mars and Venus. Next they
will start landing bits of cargo
on a selected spot on the lun-
ar surface — parts of stations,
necessary equipment. When all
is ready, they will deliver a
man to put the stuff together
and set up their station. With
a high priority drive they can
do all this within five years.
Certainly they could drive a
missile to the moon's surface
right now — if they haven't al-
ready done so By the time.+his
magazine is in print.
But G. Harry Stine, in ad-
vancing^ the* case for the arti-
ficial space plajsiorm, was only
supporting what happened to
be the*"most advanced Ameffc-
can thought about our own
space rocket capacities in 1957.
Our plans for an earth satel-
lite one weighing only twenty
pounds, had been announced
originally for the fall of 1957.
But they had been vague and
were finally set back six or
eight months. Doubtless these
plans ar being hastily revised,
but the fact still remains that
America does not have the
ability to ' put a satellite of
Sputnik's weight up there. We
can't do it.
"Stine was exceedingly aware
of the menace of space, of the
desperate need for getting up
there first. His book is a Vig-
orous and fearless examination
of the vital importance to
America of our space opera-
tions and our space defenses.
He pointed out how the decline
10
SATURN
and fall of the empires of the
past, from the Persian and Ro-
man to the British, was in each
case due to the failure of these
empires to keep up with tech-
nical developments outside
their frontiers. Let the United
States fail to keep its technical
lead and we face" the same his-
toric fate.
T ET'S FACE it* wc were
■'-'caught S»t-footed. Our
projects were tied up ; n argu-
ments between builders as to
which design was the more
ideal. Our Project Vanguard
was lingering for lack of suffi-
cient cash and manpower. The
leaders of our country had
their heads buried in the sands
of golf courses, hoping like the
ostrich that what they weren't
willing to see would therefore
cease to exist. A week after
Sputnik had electrified the
world, too many of these lead-
ers were already busy trying
,,to j^tick their heads back in
, the golf traps — denying the ob-
vious, shrugging it off, pre-
tending we had bigger plans
all the time, and so forth. Such
lea. ; s would do well to study
the last days of the Roman
Empire and meditate on them.
What can the rest of us do,
especially those of us who,
through science-fiction, know
how real and vital space flight
is going to be to the human
future. We can do something
— we can do our utmost to
sway public- opinion behind a
new crash program for rocket
engineering and space flight. ^
In spite of the fact that
America has more science-fic-
tion i" "■; i/.ines and science-fic-
tion ii idcrs than any other
country in the world (and here
again Russia is a close sec-
ond), we have always been shy
of publicly admitting belief in
space travel. Buck Rogers may
be a household word, but seri-
ous people smile when they
hear it. When the first Ameri-
can society of space-travel en-
thusiasts was formed back in
1931, it took the name of the
American Interplanetary Socie-
ty and called its journal
Astronautics. But as soon as it
grew large and began to at-
tract practical engineers to its
ranks, it embarrassedly
changed itOrname to the con-
servative American Rocket
Society and its magazine to
Jet Propulsion. To this day
rocket engineers would rather
talk in public only about bal-
listic missiles, jet planes, and
cargo rockets, and avoid pub-
lic references to any "wild"
ideas of moon-flight.
It is this' curious reluctance
RED FLAG OVER THE MOON
II
to admit publicly what is ac-
tually the heart's desire of eve-
ry rocket man that has helped
to hold back our progress.
Mention moon-flying to a con-
gressman and he'd think you
crazy. Instead talk about V-2s
and missiles. That sounds more
businesslike.
This sort of nonsense has
got to stop. Rocket men must
speak out and name their ob-
jective boldly and clearly. We
want the moon! We want it
now, and we want it for the
free world! We have the
means, we have the will— give
us the money and we will give
you the universe!
That's the way the Russians
talk. They state their objec-
tives without blushing. They
never hesitated to put pictures
of space rockets on the covers
of even the most sedate of sci-
ence journals. Their govern-
ment bureau in charge of rock-
etry is boldly called the Min-
*
istry for Interplanetary Com-
munication !
S c i e n c e-fiction readers
should speak out plainly. We
can collar our acquaintances,
write our congressmen, put let-
ters in the newspapers, come
out openly. Stop the nonsense,
clear the decks, build the
space-ships now.
If we don't," then in a few
years- we %re going to be able
to stand out j,» our back yards
and look at a real new Soviet
Satellite. It's going to be spcbig
white sphere in the night sky
with very familiar features.
It's going to be called Luna;
there'll be a red flag stuck on
a mast in the middle of the Sea
of Serenity and another on the
top of Tycho. And the Man
in the Moon will be broad-
casting down to Earth every
day — in Russian.
That's the way it's prob-
ably going to be.
THE END
t.
THE ORZU PROBLEM
by LLOYD HIGGLE, JR.
All he did was to obey orders — but out in the
galaxy sizes can be terribly deceptive!
ALL RIGHT. So I've been
in the government service
for twenty years, and my rat-v
ing is only Grade 10. That
isn't my fault. The Special
Problems Section is a tough
place to work. I've been up and
down plenty of times during
those twenty years. I've
dropped from Grade 3 down to
Grade 7, and qnce I went from
Grade 2 all the way down to
Grade 8. I never blamed z -
one but myself for those demo-
tions. When a man pulls a
boner, he has to live with it.
This last time, though, I was
at the top — a bona fide Grade
1, and the only one on this
Base. Central Administration
12
THE ORZU PROBLEM
13
bounced me all the way to
Grade 10 without a hearing,
and I hadn't done a thing. I
was as innocent as a man can
be in these corrupt times, and
I can prove it.
It began with a letter, and
* the Chief brought • it in him-
self. The Chief fakes a person-
al inferest in the members of
his staff, and when he comes
up with a first class stinker, he
likes to see the expression on
the face of the man that gets
it. He leered at me, and slid
the letter across my desk.
"Special Problems Section,
Base XVI," I read. "Requisi-
tion: With all possible dispatch
furnish one pair live Orzus to
Galaxia Zoological Gardens.
Details as to capture and ship-
ment are left to your discre-
tion."
"Pretty good joke," I said.
"I suppose we tell them to go
chase their own Orzus?"
"We do not," the Chief said.
I didn't likef his tone of
voice. I snapped, "Since when
does the Galaxia Zoological
Gardens have any authority
over Special Problems?"
"Ever since the Galactic
Commission passed a special
resolution ordering all Special
Problems Sections to extend
full cooperation. Galaxia Zoo-
logical Gardens are to have a
prize .collection of monstrosi-
ties from all over the galaxy.
An added tourist attraction for
the capital, they say, and may-
be it's a good idea. If the col-
lection is hideous enough, it
might make the politicians look
good."
"One pair live Orzus, com-
ing up," I said.
With considerable reluctance
I laid aside the problem of the
decreasing bj.rth rate on Par-
mo, and went down to the li-
bra1>y to stalk my Orzus^s-
Normally a problem of this
type is no problem at all. Spe-
cial Problems simply passes
the request along to the local
Colonial Administrator. The
Administrator finds someone in
his organization who can carry
it out, and sends Special Prob-
lems a billing for any expense
involved. Special Problems
passes the billing along, with
appropriate padding, of course,
to the department that origin-
ated the request. And the prob-
lem is buried in an Action Tak- v
'en file.
The library had a new girl
in the reference section — a
trim little redhead with 'green
eyes and the kind of figure I
didn't think they allowed out
on the perimeter.
"Where did you come
from?" I said. "I thought this
14
SATURN
Base had some kind of regula-
tion against being beautiful."
"I've heard that line eighty-
seven times in the last four
days," she said. "And I came
out here to marry a man in the
Supply Department."
"Dial me one pair of Orzus,"
I said.,,
She did. We worked out elev-
en different ways to spell
Orzu, and all we got was a
blank screen. . >
I went to see the Chief.
"Just tell me one thing/' r-said.
"What's an Orzu?"
The Chief laughed. "Maybe
that's why it's a special prob-
lem." Sometimes his sense of
humor is positively malicious.
I went back to my desk and
prepared a message for the
Director of the Galaxia Zoo-
logical Gardens. "With regard
to your request for one pair
Orzus, please advise as to
planet and species desired."
I hoped he'd assume that
this ssector was overpopulated
vwith Orzus and their near rela-
tions, and he'd have to do some
research before he bothered me
again ^ With luck, he might
even 'decide to forget about his
Orzus, I sent the message down
to Communications, and went
back to my problem of the
birth rate on Parmo. I also
went back to the problem of
the little redhead.
I've been married eleven
times, at various Bases around
the galaxy, and that doesn't in-
clude a number of unofficial
cohabitation experiments. With
due modesty I might say I've
had a measure of practical ex- J
perience that no psych-condi-
tioning can touch, and it took
me just three days to eliminate
the opposition and take over.
There was only one draw-
back. She was a girl with old-
fashioned ideas. No cohabita-
tion for her — it had to be mar-
riage or nothing. "All right," I
said. "Let's get married."
We set a date. My work was
going along nicely. There is
nothing quite like a decreasing-
birth-rate problem for a man
planning to get married. Then
back came the reply from the
Director of Galaxia Zoological
Gardens, by high-priority space
relay.
"Orzus desired na'tive to
planet Amicus, Pron II, Sector
1169," he wrote. "Reference
Journal of Galactic Explora-
tions, Vol. LXVI, No. 5, p.
1043."
Whereupon I wrote out a
requisition for one pair of live
Orzus, to be shipped to the
Galaxia Zoological Gardens,
and addressed it to the Colo-
nial Administrator on Amicus.
THE ORZU PROBLEM
15
It was that simple. I sent it
down to Communications.
Communications sent it right
back with a sarcastic note to
the effect that there was no
Colonial Administrator on Ar-
nicus. In fact, there wasn't
'anybody on Amicus. The place
wasn't, deemed fit for human
habitation.
Back to the library I went,
and my redhead wasn't exact-
ly pleased to find me there on
business. I checked out the
reel of the appropriate number
of the Journal of Galactic Ex-
ploration, and dug up a few
survey reports on Amicus.
I started reading, and what
I found would have curled my
hair if I had any. Amicus is a
super-tropical world, with two
continents at its polar caps,
and five thousand miles of boil-
ing ocean separating them. The
average temperature at its
poles is 200 Fahrenheit in the
shade, with lots of shade, in
the form of sliltiy, swampy
jungle.
Orzu himself was specifical-
*" ly "designed for populating
nightmares— a giant reptile,
nine feet high at the shoulders,
fifteen feet long, and with a
bristling crop of tentacles
where bis nose should ,have
been. It was also claimed that
he had three eyes, I doubted
that the explorer had gotten
close enough to count accurate-
ly, but on an Orzu one eye,
more or less, couldn't have
much influence on the total
effect.
I wrote up a little report on
the generally hellish nature of
Orzu and his environment, and
took it to the Chief. He read it
through as if he enjoyed it im-
mensely. *"When do you
leave?" he sa^J.
"When do / leave?" I
squaltfed. "Listen, I ctftt't
leave. I'm getting married next
week."
"You don't say," he said. He
pulled my file, and went
through it, counting slowly.
". . .eight, nine, ten, eleven! It
isn't as if it were something
that hasn't happened before.
You'll have plenty of time to
get married after you collect
the Orzus." He grinned happi-
ly. "I'm glad this came along.
I've been wanting to get you
onto a, normal-gravity bas§ so
you can see how much weight
you've put on."
"That's a great idea," I said.
"Send me back to Terra for
that leave I was supposed to
have last year. I think the girl
would like that. But leave Orzu
out of it."
"I'll fix it up with Explora-
tion to get you a ship and
16
SATURN
crew," he said. "But you go
along to boss the operation.
Either you bring back Orzu, or
you stay on Amicus and grow
your own .tentacles. Special
Problems has a reputation to
maintain."
As you know, Special Prob-
lems has top priority over any
department except the military.
It took just three days to get
an expedition together • and
equip it. The military cooperat-
ed with the loan of a space
cruiser.
As I had figured, my little
redhead didn't take kindly to
the idea. She was looking for-
ward to getting married, which
is an excellent state of mind
for a woman to be in. When I
told her we'd have to wait she
threw a tantrum and quite a
few other things. The same
night I saw her down by the
space port strolling^ with her
man from the Supply Depart-
ment. And when I went down
to the library to wish her good
,by, she told me not to hurry
back.
T LEFT for Amicus with a
Space Navy crew, a dozen
experienced explorers, and the
best equipment Base could pro-
vide. And there were several
things wrong. No one on board
had ever been to Amicus be-
fore — and few of us were
pleased at the prospect of go-
ing there.
My explorers were hardened
individualists. The first day
they got into violent arguments
over Orzu and how best to cope
with him. After three hours
they'd split up into factions
that weren't on speaking terms.
The man in charge of the
project was me, and I was
more concerned about my red-
head than Orzu. Also, I'd never
before been in charge of any-
thing that involved more than
one female filing clerk. It was
not a pleasant trip.
On the fourteenth day I.
stood with the Captain on the
bridge, absorbing my first view
of Amicus. What I saw made
me sick. The planet was
wrapped in swirling dirty, yel-
low-brown clouds, and where I
caught a glimpse of land I saw
nothing but a hideous purple
vegetation.
The captafll snapped out the
necessary orders to put the
ship into a polar orbit. "Which
continent do you want to start
with?" he said.
"I'd just as soon forget the
whole thing," I said. "But as
long as I can't, take your pick.
Wherever you'd prefer to
land."
"Land?" He stared at me.
THE ORZU PROBLEM
17
"You want me to put this ship
down in a swamp? Nothing do-
ing. We stay in an orbit, and
you ferry your men and sup-
plies down by flyer."
"Now just how am I going to
get a pair of Orzus into this
4 ship by flyer?"
"That's your problem. But
I'd suggest that you concen-
trate on small Orzus. There's
the size of the air lock to con-
sider."
I hadn't thought of that.
There were, in fact, a number
of things I hadn't thought of,
as I found out when I started
conferring with my exploration
team on the subject of what to
do with Orzu if we actually
caught him.
My right-hand man was a
veteran explorer named Jan
Garish. A small, wizened man
with a leathery, wrinkled face
and a drooping mustache in
which he took an obnoxious
pride. He had spent most of his
life knocking around in various
galactic hell-holes. Though he'd
never been on "Amicus, he dif-
fered from the rest of us in
that he was looking forward to
it. '
"First thing we do/' he said,
"we test atmosphere. We get
chemist to make some. We get
engineer to make pressure cage.
We get zoologist to tell us what
Orzu maybe eats. Then we
catch Orzu, put him in cage.
He lives, we tow cage up to
ship. He don't live, we make
chemist and zoologist try
again, and we catch more Orzu.
Simple, eh?"
Simple. I longed for the
good, old, bring 'em back alive
days, when a zoo only collect-
ed specimens from its own
planet. * .
The capta^a gave me the
ship's chemist for my exclu-
sive'tise, and that worthy* in-
dividual rubbed his hands to-
gether, stroked the two or
three hairs surviving on his
bald head, and vowed, Space,
yes, he could duplicate the
Amicus atmosphere. He could
duplicate any atmosphere — but
he couldn't say for how long.
How much of the stuff would
Orzu be breathing per hour?
Wouldn't it maybe be better to
simply compress enough of the
real thing to get Orzu to the
zoo, and then let the zoo w^)rry
about it?
J I didn't know, and I left it
up to him.
The zoologist wasn't so easy.
He was a member of m/ ex-
ploration team, but he hadn't
volunteered for the job. I
asked him how we'd pack back
enough vegetation to keep Orzu
alive. He said he didn't know,
18
SATURN
that was my problem — and
anyway, Orzu was probably
carnivorous.
That possibility hadn't oc-
curred to me, and in my last
sleep on board the cruiser I
was caught in a weird night-
mare in which my little red-
head developed "a third green
eye, sprouted long red tenta-
cles, and tried to stuff me into
a food synthesizer. >
r THE FLYER spiraled down
■■•''over the north pole, keep-
ing well away from the ocean.
My chemist warned that it
might be one churning vat of
poison, and I didn't argue with
him. Also, we wanted to keep
as far from the smouldering
equator as possible.
We skimmed over several
hundred square miles of jungle
without sighting a clearing, and
finally we eased the flyer
straight down through the
trees. Tangled vines caught at
it. Huge purple leaves flapped
, against the ports, and stuck
there, blinding the pilot. It was
raining globules of some un-
mentionable liquid.
We had special atmosphere
suits with a built-in cooling ap-
paratus. We climbed into them,
and Jan Garish was the first
man out the air lock. He
begged me for the job, and I
gave in with appropriate re-
luctance. He took one step,
and sank into the slimy mud
up to his hips.
"Welcome to Amicus," I
said. x
The rain left a sticky film
on my face plate, and I had to *
keep wiping it off to see. I
scrambled around Garish,
found solid ground — I only
sank in to my knees — and
looked about. The others fol-
lowed me. We stood shifting
from one foot to the other, and
watching each other to see if
one of us would suddenly sink
in over his head.
Garish floundered out of
sight into the flapping vegeta-
tion, and quickly floundered
back again. "We're in a
swamp," he said.
No one denied it.
"Well," he said, "it gets
worse in that direction. May-
be it'll get better the other
way."
A good man, Garish. We
found solid ground, and I be-
gan to feel better. I'd been
wondering how anything as big
as Orzu could exist in a swamp.
We moved the flyer, brought
out our tents, and made a
camp. The chemist set up a
laboratory in the flyer, and
gleefully went to work on the
atmosphere. My explorers went
THE ORZU PROBLEM
19
back to their argument about
how best to catch Orzu, if we
could locate him. The locating
didn't worry me. If Orzu was
around at all, he wouldn't be
easy to overlook. Nine feet
high, the report had said.
4 While the rest of us were
hacking out a clearing around
the camp, Jan Garish took
three men on a preliminary
survey of our surroundings.
"Don't try to bring in Orzu all
by yourself," I told him.
"No," Garish said, after
giving the possibility careful
consideration. "Maybe we find
tracks, though."
"I don't even want you
tracking him, yet. He might
have a nasty temper. If you
find a place that looks as if a
battle cruiser has ploughed
through the jungle, just get
back here fast."
We had the camp in order,
and I was relaxing in my tent,
comfortably sealed off from
the sulphurous Arnicus atmos-
phere, when he returned. He
stomped out of the air lock,
>*pulled off his suit, and sat
down glumly.
"Nothing," he said.
"No Orzu?"
"No nothing. Don't like the
looks of this place. No birds.
No animals."
"Just be patient," I said.
"Maybe Orzu sleeps in the
daytime."
"Maybe." He grunted, and
it was not an optimistic grunt.
The following day we or-
ganized our search. We split
into three parties, and combed
the jungle, working out away
from the swamp. Nothing.
We shifted our camp, -and
kept moving away from the
swamp until we ran into anoth-
er swamp. Nothing. At the end
of a week we went back to the
ship tq r replenish our supplies,
and then we tried again. Noth-
ing.
Another week, and still a
third, we stumbled and
threshed our way through that
putrid _ jungle. We slopped
through swamps. We hacked
our way through the thick,
purple, slime-coated veg-
etation. We tripped over trail-
ing vines that always looked
like snakes, but never were.
We chaffed in those cooled at-
mosphere suits, and we sweat-
ed in' them, too, from sh^er
nervous frustration. Nothing.
The fourth week started out
like the first three. Then, on
the second day, I came floun-
dering out of a swamp and
found a trail — not a very big
trail, to be sure, but something
had passed that way. I divided
my men into two groups, and
20
SATURN
we started out to follow that
trail in both directions. I led
one party, or rather, I ran on
ahead of it.
"Hey, take it easy," some-
one called. "Maybe Orzu
bites."
I didn't slow down. I'd
stopped being afraid of Orzu.
All I wanted to do was get my
hands on him. I tore down that
winding trail, widening the gap
between myself and the others,
and suddenly I*came to a sharp
turn and blundered into. . .
A TENT. A couple of men
standing there, their at-
mosphere suits sticky with
slime. Two, three more men
hurrying out of the tent and
gaping at me. Two more tents
in the background, and beyond
them, half buried in the purple
jungle, the .crumpled remains
of a small space yacht.
They swarmed down on me
and pumped my hand. Both
hands. They climbed all over
me. They mobbed the other
men as they came up. They
leaped and howled with joy,
and maybe they wept a little,
top. I couldn't tell, with them
wearing suits.
When the celebration had
quieted down, one of them,
who seemed to be the leader,
took me aside and started the
hand shaking all over again.
"I'm glad to see you," he said.
"Thought we were done for.
We crashed two weeks ago.
Smashed most of our equip-
ment, and we're almost out of
air, and — say, what are you
doing here?" *
I sighed. "Looking for
Orzu."
He took two quick steps
backwards, and then he
jumped at me again, clamped a
stranglehold on my neck, and
pounded me on the back.
"Man, you must be an expert!
But how did you manage it in
this jungle?"
"What are you talking
about?" I said. "And who are
you, anyway?"
He stepped back again.
"Why, I'm Orzu. Who did you
think I was?"
It was my turn to back
away, and we were almost too
far apart for normal conversa-
tion. "Orzu?" I repeated
blankly. ?
"Stephen Orzu. I'm heading
a research party for the Uni-
versity of Arcturus."
We got into his tent, some-
how, and I told him my story.
The air was thin, and he
looked completely exhausted,
but he laughed until he fell off
his chair and rolled on the
floor. •
THE ORZU PROBLEM
21
"You came all the way to
Amicus and spent three weeks
in the jungle looking for..."
He gasped for breath.
"Orzu," I said.
"But there isn't any Orzu!"
he panted.
4 ' There is an Orzu," I said,
feeling the way a child must on
Star-Festival Night, when
someone says, "There isn't a
Galactic Spirit."
I gave him a photo-copy of
the report from the Journal of
Galactic Exploration. He read
it carefully, and rolled over
onto the floor again. I quieted
him down, and got him back
onto his chair.
" According to this ..." I
began.
"I know," he said. "I wrote
that myself for the Journal.
But they left out some of it.
They left out the part that said
the creature's extinct!"
He sat there, tears running
down his face and laughter
choking him, and there wasn't
anthing that I could say. Not
a thing.
•" "I named it after myself,"
he said finally. "I discovered it
— discovered some skeletal re-
mains, that is — and I've always
wanted something like that
named after me. The Bureau
of Explorations has to approve
it before it becomes official,
but that's a routine matter."
"Oh," I said.
"You're quite a few thou-
sand years too late to capture
Orzu alive."
"You don't say," I said.
"I can show you some lovely
bones."
"No, thank you. I never was
very interested in bones."
He cut short another spasm
of laughter, and said thought-
fully, "You know, I wonder if
this could be my^Tault. I wrote
that letter in a hurry, and \
just might have neglected' to
mention that Orzu is extinct.
I'll have it corrected in the
next issue of the Journal."
"I wish you would," % I said.
"Otherwise, some naive clerk
might get sent Orzu-hunting."
Eventually Scientist Orzu
recovered sufficiently to show
us the specimens he'd collected.
There was life on Amicus — -
lots of it, in fact. But it was
small, and in our search for a
nine-foot-high Orzu, we'd over-
looked it altogether.
He showed* us some nasty-
looking reptiles, some odd in-
sects, and an assortment of
other small creatures. And /a
prize specimen.
"This should interest you,"
he said. "This is Orzu's ninth
cousin on his stepfather's side."
It was Orzu, all right, in the
22
SATURN
miniature. Tiny reptiles three
inches long, but with all the
tentacles, and the three eyes,
and probably the evil disposi-
tion that old Orzu had. I tried
to pick one up, and it bit me.
"I based my description of
old Orzu on these," Scientist
Orzu told us. "They could be
direct descendents, but more
likely they're another branch
of the family. We'll probably
never know, because fossil
remains are hard to come by
on this planet. Cute little fel-
lows, aren't they?"
They looked repulsive to me,
but I had an inspiration. "Let's
call these things Orzu," I said,
"and ship a couple off to the
Galaxia Zoological Gardens.". I
wanted to salvage some mea-
sure of success from my three
weeks in the Anicus jungle.
"Oh, no!" Scientist Orzu
bellowed, rearing back indig-
nantly. "I want my name on
the big fellow. You wouldn't
understand, of course, but it's
a life-long ambition with me —
to have a giant "fossil named
after me. This may be my last
chance. You have to discover
or^e of those things to have the
privilege of naming it, and
Space knows when I'll get
away on another field trip."
He ducked into a tent, and
came out with an armful of
bones. "Look at him!" he
purred.
I know a fanatic when I see
one, and I didn't press the
point. "Then bow about M or-
zu?" I said.
He beamed at me. "I have
a better idea. Let's name St
after you!"
"No, thank you," I said,
when I had my shuddering un-
der control.
"Well, Morzu sounds good."
He chuckled. "I guess it will
see more zoo than Orzu, at
that!"
I wasn't carrying a blaster,
and probably it was just as
well for Orzu that I wasn't.
The scientist had already
solved the problem of atmos-
phere and diet for his speci-
mens, so we sent the ship a
mission accomplished message,
and started packing. Everyone
was happy except Jan Garish,
who went around mumbling be-
cause he wouldn't be able to
set foot 0$ the southern con-
tinent. We ferried our own
equipment, and Orzu's, up to
the cruiser, along with two ex-
tra pairs of Morzus for* the zoo,
and in the words of the Gap-
tain we got the hell out of
there.
TWHEN WE reached Base,
I left the space port on the
THE ORZU
run to look for my little red-
head. She'd moved, and when I
located her new address her
husband came to the door.
She'd married her man from
the Supply Department, and
he gave me a brief description
of* what would happen to me
if I tried to bother her, and
slammed the door in my face.
At that point I was boiling
hotter than the ocean on Ami-
cus. I tore back to the space
port and got the Morzus
shipped to Galaxia by slow
freighter, hoping they'd die be-
fore they got there. I spent
two hours composing a mes-
sage for the Director of the
Zoological Gardens. I told him
that Orzu was rare and almost
never seen alive/ but I was
shipping him not one pair, but
two, of practically the same
thing — a first cousin we were
calling Morzu. I added some
details about diet and atmos-
phere that Scientist Orzu had
supplied, and a few precautions
on the care of Morzus that I
made up on the spot. I also
teld him that the creatures
were extremely active, and he
would have to provide an un-
usually large amount of space
per animal if they were to
thrive. I sent the message off,
and hoped for the worst.
I was still steaming mad the
PROBLEM 23
next morning, when Scientist
Orzu called at my office. Why
not? I'd lost my girl, and spent
three weeks in that jungle hell,
and all for nothing.
It was nearly a year later
that I learned the fate of the
Director of the Galaxia Zoolo-
gical Gardens. As I'd hoped,
lie assumed that Morzus were
roughly the same size as Orzus,
and he worked day and night
to have a sealed cage ready for
them when they arrived. It was
an enormous cage, some thirty:,
feet high and covering four
acres, with a transparent ceil-
ing so that the visitors could
walk around on top and look
down on the giant reptiles. Of
course he invested a lot of
money in expensive heating
and atmospheric equipment,
the total bill running into the
hundreds of thousands of
credits.
Along with the Morzus we'd
sent him specimens of Amicus
soil and jungle vegetation, and
when .he'd gotten a roaring
jungle going in his cage, some-
one turned the Morzus loose
there, maybe thinking they
would grow up to the size qf
old Orzu. Those microscopic
reptiles disappeared into that
four-acre jungle, and the last
I heard the zoo personnel were
still looking for them. The
24
SATURN
^Director was fired for squan-
dering the tax payers' money.
I expected a reprimand, and
it wasn't long in coming. Two
weeks after I saw the news re-
lease about the director, I was
knocked from Grade 1 down
to Grade 10, fined two years of
seniority, and confined to Base
for eighteen months.
It was all done without a
hearing, as I said, but I knew
I deserved it, I didn't even file
an appeal. I considered it
worth it, at that price, and
when I think of the zoo person-
nel beating through that Ami-
cus jungle looking for Morzus,
I still get laughing fits.
Then the trial brief arrived,
and you could have warped me
twice around a comet. It
wasn't the Galaxia Zoo that
filed the complaint — it was
Scientist Orzu! A balder con-
coction of lies I have never
seen. My party, he said, kept
him starving in the jungle for
two weeks without bothering to
rescue him. We caused irre-
parable damage to valuable
scientific specimens by forcing
him to pack his belongings with
Undue and unnecessary haste.
We appropriated to our own
use four valuable specimens as
the price of getting him off
Amicus at all. We made no ef
fort to salvage his thorough!
smashed space yacht, whic
was government property. Anu
so it went, through four and a
half pages.
My screams of prote;
could have been heard as^fai
away as Sirius, but it was too
late for counteraction. Why, I
asked myself. Why? What did
I ever do to him, except sav
his life?
But it proved to be very
simple. Orzu had suffered a
crushing defeat. He had to
take it out on someone, and
I'd insulted him. It turned out
that another scientist had
done some browsing on Ami-
cus fifty years before, and he
found skeletal remains of the
same reptile that Orzu wanted
to name Orzu. He also had the
same idea about getting the
big fellow named after himself,
and he got his claim in first,
by forty-nine years and six
months. 4
So I got demoted and fined
for something I didn't do, and
still maintain that I'm inno-
cent. It certainly isn't my fault
that the official name for
Orzu's pet fossil is Smith.
THE END
THE SKITZ
AND THE UNSKITZ
by JEFFERSON HIGHE
For that slick chick of the future, things had to
be '\eal skitz" to he right . . . but, my, what
queer notions that Boston longhair had about
how a girl should behave!
TPHE FIRST burring of the
-*• telephone sent an icy drill
probing at the bedrock of her
sleep and she sat up in the
rumpled bed, groping like a
drowning person clutching for
salvation at the empty air. The
room circled and slowly came
to rest. Squalor of sleep hung
over it like mist over a swamp.
Oh God, I'm drunk, she
thought and reached for the
phone again. Then she realized
that it was not the phone which
was ringing but the clock and
she thought, who's crazy
enough to get up at this hour?
But the clock hands told her
that it was nearly one P.M.,
and she remembered that this
was to be the Day and the
Night.
She lit a cigarette and her
hand went automatically to the
switch on the table Hbeside her.
A side of the room flared into
light and sound as the expen-
sive Spellcaster went to work,
and an Army colonel, in full
color and tridi, stepped out of
the wall with a world map in
his hands and began to talk of
the Quasiwar. It was another
of the priority spells which all
stations were being forced to
cast. She flicked off the switch
irritably, wishing, as she had a
thousand times, that the Qua-
si — which had been going on
all her life — might finally
come to something definite.
With the switch off, the col-
or went out of the room and f
the nfiasma of sleep and living
came back on the tide of shad-
ow. Better get up she
25
26
SATURN
thought, pushing against the
feeling of guilt and terror that
she knew was lurking in some
corner of her morning mind.
It's a beautiful morning, a
beautiful day, she told herself
as she touched the switch and
a wall became a window and
the hard bright day flushed
the room with light. With the
coming of the light, the lost
and guilty feeling came, as she
knew it would, and she went on
with the litany, like a morning
prayer. Beautiful marning,
beautiful morning, she crooned
to the high noon outside; I'm
so happy, I'm having so much
fun, it's such a wonderful
thing to be alive.
She caught a glimpse of her-
self in the mirror — she was
very pretty and blonde and
small and strongly curved — -
and thought that she looked
sallow and h'ungover "and
blamed it on the harsh light.
But she did not touch the
switch to control the terrible
daylight that came through the
wall. Must be outward-going,
she crooned to herself and
caught a robe quickly around
her body; I have so much fun;
I have such a good time. ^
The litany did not help, as
it never really did. The scream-
of a Banshee car came up from
the street, there was a clap of
laughter from its occupants
and for a moment the sunlight
from the wall was blurred by
the oily smoke of the Ban-
shee's jet. In the moment of si-
lence she heard the tapping
sticks of the Hands. I'm a free
woman, I'm happy, I have fftn,
she told herself, but it was no
good, and she spoke aloud into
the silence: "Better joy-pop."
And went across to the closet
that housed the Psychomat.
When she was inside, she be-
gan to feel better at once. The
red light of the Cosmone came
on as she lay down on the
couch; she heard the hiss of
the concealed valve as the di-
luted carbon monoxide began
to flow, and she did not even
feel the prick of the needle as
it went into her thigh. Curled
. like a foetus on the low couch
she felt relaxed and at ease. "I
want to tell you, Father," she
said, whispering into the neu-
tral ear of the Confessomech,
"about wjhen I was a little
girl'. . ."
WHEN SHE came out of
the Psychomat ten min-
utes later she felt that she was
healed. She began to dress rap-
idly, first the glass stilt shoes,
then the new blouse with the
peekaboo windows at the
breasts, then the lovely lon^
28
SATURN
backless dress. Now, she felt,
she was armored for the Day,
and she went down the hall to
Louise's bedroom.
She entered without knock-
ing, going past the wall where
the indefatigable colonel was
still booming away in full col-
or, now engaged in balancing
a globe on his index finger.
She nodded briefly at the
young man who was just- put-
ting on his tie and who said,
"Morning, Jill," and blew a
kiss at her as he went out the
door.
" 'Bye, doll," Louise called
after the young man.
A woman as long and slen-
der as a s n a k e, dark, with a
red slash of a mouth and dark
mineral eyes, she moved over
on the bed, patting the edge of
the bed for Jill to be seated,
and switched off the colonel.
"Geez, the army is getting cute
men these days," she said. "No
wonder we're winning the Qua-
si. Did you watch the spell?
Real skitz."
"No. I don't like that kind
of thing."
"Honey, you must be real
hung 1 ' not to go for that."
"To tell you the truth, I
didn't feel very well this
morning."
"Oh?" Louise looked at Jill
noncommittally and reached
languidly for a cigarette. "Who
are you sleeping with these
days, dear?"
"Why, no one, much. No
one in particular and not very
often."
"No wonder you feel de-
pressed. "
"No," Jill said. "It's not
that, really."
"Harry?"
"Of course not!" Jill said
indignantly. "You were abso-
lutely right about him. He
wanted to marry me — can you
imagine? I haven't seen him in
weeks."
"That's good. I thought you
were going irresponsible for
awhile there, doll. You were
getting to be almost like hus-
band and wife together. He
looked too much like Tony."
"I know." Jill felt herself
blushing. She too had thought,
uneasily, of Harry's resem-
blance to her ex-husband. Why
does she always put me in the
wrong, she asked herself re-
sentfully. Sure, she has a high
Responsibility rating, but does
she have to keep waving it at
me?
."Who were you with last
night?"
"No one. I think." Jill felt
the blush on her body deepen-
ing. "After all, I did get terri-
bly high,'* she said virtuously.
THE SKITZ AND THE UNSKIlZ
29
"Yes, that's true, doll. But
tiobodyl Well, that's hardly re-
sponsible behavior, is it? And
considering that this is the
Day?"
Suddenly, unaccountably,
Jill began to cry, and Louise
flipped on the switch, filling
the room with sound and be-
gan to' dress. The colonel was
talking about a recent sighting
of flying saucers. "It has been
fully established," the colonel
said, "that these Sightseers, as
the Government Corporation
has officially decided to call
them, are visitors from anoth-
er star system and not, I re-
peat, not, an invention of the
Other Side. There is nothing to
fear from them. Perhaps they
are interested in learning from
us. We may regard them as
tourists none the less." He
went into a complicated and
self-satisfied explanation of the
Sightseers* and Louise, fin-
ished dressing, whistled into
the Service Warp and came to-
ward the bed with a long glass
of Hashicola.
"Drink this, doll."
Jill took a long pull at the
drink and felt better at once,
but she put the glass down on
the table.
"I can't drink much of it,"
' she said.
"Hashicola — " Louise began.
"I don't care what the AMA
says," Jill told her rebelliously.
"I know it's bad for my heart."
"The Association of Medi-
cal Advertisers knows what is
best," Louise said stiffly. Then
she softened and sat down on
the side of the bed and put her
arm around Jill.
"Look, doll,'^ said said. "I
know how it is. Everybody's
nervous before the Night. Even
old timers like me. That's why
the Amalgamated sends us out
to live for a month or two with
neophytes before they take the
tests."
"Yes," Jill said meekly.
Then: "I feel guilty!" she
blurted.
Louise looked at her for a
long moment.
"I think you'd better learn
to watch your language," she
said coldly.
"I'm sorry — I didn't mean
it that way. I just mean wrong.
Mixed up. Unskitz."
"That's not very responsible
talk," Louise said quietly. "I
thought you had the stuff to
get through the confirmation
tonight. I could be wrong." She
let the insinuation lie ther£ be-
tween them for a moment.
Then she said softly: "Been
thinking of Tony again?"
"Maybe."
"Well," Louise said briskly,
30 SAI
"if that's all. For a moment I
thought it was really something
bad. Now finish your drink
like a good girl."
Jill took another long drink
and put the glass down.
"I don't really need any
more," she said. "I had ten
minutes of psycho this morn-
ing. Wonderful." She stretched
luxuriously. "Seemed like
months."
"That's all right," Louise
said judiciously. "But you
don't want to overdo it. I know
lots of Joy Girls use it, but it
gets them finally. They begin
to live in a trance state and it's
hard to be a real activist when
you're like that. And the next
thing Amalgamated drops you.
When the hard stuff gets you
that way, you're hooked, and
the next thing, once they take
away the Psychomat, you'll be
wanting to work."
"That's not fair!" Jill said
angrily. She heard the tapping
of the Hands going by in the
street and shuddered.
"Come here, doll," Louise
said. She put her arm around
Jill^s shoulder and led her to
the high window. In the noon
sun the stucco and glass and
chrome lashed and glittered.
"Lift your eyes to the hills."
Jill looked up at the great
houses, all angles and plate
glass, that went up the terraced
sides of the mountains. She
saw the geometrized gardens
and the emerald flash of the
swimming pools.
"All that," Louise said. "All
of it's your playground after
today. You won't be a Petty-
Responsible after tonight —
you'll be a part of Amalgamat-
ed Joy with the whole world at
your feet. And now look at
that." She pointed down into
the depths of the street.
The Hands were coming off
the noon shift in hundreds.
Dressed alike, each wearing
his Spellbinder hat with the
small screen six inches in front
of his face, each with the white
cane with its electronic eye to
guide him, the Hands tapped
along the sidewalks toward
home. Involuntarily, Jill drew
back.
"Yes," Louise said. "Think
of it — two dimensional spells
— no color— nothing but prior-
ity programs and you have to
watch them all the way to and
from the factory. That's what
happens when you become a
work-addict, if you haven't got
the stuff for Amalgamated."
"I know," Jill sighed. I sup-
pose it's my Petty-Responsible
mentality. After all, taking
care of- the gallery is a little
like — well — like work."
t
THE SKITZ AND THE UNSKITZ
31
"I know. But you can see
where it would lead. After all,
if everybody were to become a
work -addict, what would hap-
[>en to the machines? Econom-
ic chaos. Some of us have got
to be responsible."
"Yes, of course."
"That's better. Now, drink."
Without protest Jill finished
the drink. The talk had helped,
and now with the Hashicola in
her blood stream (but with, in
spite of the AMA, just the tini-
est itching at the end of her
nose) she began to feel warm
and responsible all over and
she thought that she would get
a real shot of something from
the Service Warp. The thought
of Tony came into her mind
momentarily, but she put it
away and whistled into the
Warp and began her second
litany: I'm so happy! I'm hav-
ing fun! I'm having fun!
]\/|OST DAYS no one came
to the little gallery with its
old-fashioned grapho-morphic
art, but today, as Jill and
Louise came down to the shop
from the apartment above,
someone was waiting to get in.
Jill was on the point of telling
him that tonight was the Night,
and that the gallery was closed,
but the Warp had given her
what she needed and she felt
relaxed and easy. She touched
the contol button and the field
that served as a door flickered
out and she saw that he was a
young man, handsome, she
thought, in spite of the glasses
he wore. Beside her, Louise
whistled a confirmation and
swayed toward him on her ten
inch heels. For a moment of
blurry panic Jill thought, he
looks like Tony, and then, but
now they all do. Then she
flicked the switch opening the
walls to the light.
"Tony Madison's gallery?"
the man asked. He had a touch
of accent which Jill* could not
place.
"I'm Jill Madison," she said.
"We have some of his work
here; all that's left."
"But the artist?"
"No," she said stiffly. "Not
here."
He turned away and pressed
the button under the first of
the art works. It was a nude — -
a particularly distorted one,
she, thought — of herself. It was
in slow motion.
"Amazing!" the young man
said. (
"You're a collector?"
"Collector? Well, in a small
way, yes."
"From the East, I bet,"
Louise said. "That's where
they go for this unskitz stuff."
32
SATURN
She pushed her breasts against
the young man's shoulder.
Joy Girl or not, Jill thought,
she's pretty uncoordinated in
spite of all her training. "What
she means," she said, watch-
ing the young man edge imper-
ceptibly away from Louise, "is
that in the East they like prim-
itive art of this kind. Out here
on the Coast, everyone goes in
for the Artomatic. Punch a few
buttons and make your own
pictures. It's practically the
California Way in art." "
"I'm told that Mr. Madison
has some things painted in the
old way," the young man said.
"You know — brush, oil paint,
canvas. . ."
"I'm sure you don't realize
that what you're asking is, il-
legal," Jill said quietly.
"Illegal! I'm terribly sorry,"
the young man said. He seemed
so upset that Jill smiled a for-
giveness at him.
Louise snorted. "How far
east can you get?" she asked.
"I'm sorry," the young man
said. "Permit me to introduce -
myself, I am Dr. Liri. I am a
cusator at a museum near
Boston."
"Boston!" Louise laughed.
"I guess that must be the last
museum in the country. After
all, things don't get used up if
you save them that way, do
they?"
"But we think that some
things are worth saving."
"Make new ones. Isn't that
what the machines are for?
Saving is uneconomical."
"I'm sure Boston knows
what's best for it," Jill said,
wanting to save Liri from a po-
litical argument. She tried an-
other gambit. "I hear there's
trouble with the Indians in the
New England Area."
"Oh no. They never come
into the cities, and since few of
us go into the country there's
never any real trouble."
Louise was more interested
in Art than in the Indian prob-
lem.
"What do you want these old
things of Tony's for?" she
asked,
"Some of us think them very
fine. And since Mr. Madison
seems to have stopped painting
we'd like to collect what we
can."
"Stopped painting?" Louise
laughed. "That's a good way to
put it. Why don't you get the
real story? Ask Jill."
"I used to be married to
Tony," Jill said in answer to
Liri's questioning look. "We
broke up."
"Tony always was pretty ir-
responsible," Louise confided
to Liri. "But nobody thought
THE SKITZ AND THE UNSKITZ
33
he'd go subversive." She turned
lu Jill. "Tell him about it, doll.
Tell him what Tony finally
started doing."
"He started to paint," Jill
said miserably. "With his
hands," she added, feeling the
blush travel from her heels all
the way up her back.
"And was a '49er," Louise
said. "Went east with the
pioneers."
"You don't know that for
sure," Jill protested. "Nobody
really knows what happened to
him."
"I'm sorry this has been so
upsetting for you," Liri said.
"I would not have asked if I
had known that you were — "
"It's all right," Jill said. "It
doesn't disturb me. But this is
the Day and if you don't mind,
I'd like to close up the gallery.
I've got a lot of things to do."
"Of course. Again I want to
apologize."
He seemed so genuinely sor-
ry that Jill relented a bit.
"Some other time," she said.
"I'd like to, but I'm afraid
that may not be possible." He
hesitated a moment. "Perhaps
I could take you to lunch?"
"You're a sweethear t,"
Louise said. "Of course she'll
go to lunch with you. I have to
be running along anyway."
"Doll!" she whispered to Jill
as they were closing up the
gallery. "This may be a real
piece of luck, maybe just the
one you need in the rites to
night. Play him big, honey.
Try to find out his RR."
Then she was gone and Jill
and the young man were in the
street. Around them the great
white buildings leaped at the
sky, the big houses flashed
their chrome geometry on the
hills, an occasional Hand
tapped ajong the street.
"I don't suppose," Liri said,
"That it's practical to walk to
a restaurant."
Jill laughed. Maybe he'll
turn out to be Fun, she
thought. Now that Louise was
gone she felt more relaxed.
"In these shoes? We'll get
the belt line down at the cor-
ner^"
TJTALF WAY down the block
a group of Hands were
digging a ditch to lay a sewer
pipe. The great machine built
for. the work stood by in stoic
idleness while a timer with a
stop watch and guards with B
guns cradled in their arms
watched to see that the Hands
did not work a second longer
than the time allotted to them.
Without their spell-binder hats,
the Hands worked bareheaded
and with their shirts off,
34
SATURN
laughing and talking as their
shovels shifted the earth. One
of them was singing. Shudder-
ing, Jill moved to the far edge
of the walk.
"They seem happy," liri
said.
"Work-addicts," Jill told
him. "Couldn't stand responsi-
bility. They're a terrible drain
on the economy, people say,
but it keeps them from revolu-
tion. Don't you have them
where you come from,?"
"Not quite the same. But
it's not such a big place."
"Los Angeles is the biggest
of the Thirteen States," Jill
said proudly. "Four- fifths of
the population of the whole
continent." She wondered why
she should be trying to impress
a proper Bostonian.
He did not seem impressed.
"If you don't mind," he said,
"can we go out to the beach on
this belt line? I've got a hydro-
jet out there and we could eat
on board."
Hydrojet! Jill thought;, he
must have a fabulous RR;
Louise was right.
i They got onto the belt line
at the corner, moved across to
the Express side, and were
whipped westward through the
canyons at a dizzying speed. At
the beach a water taxi took
them out to the jet.
It was the most luxurious
craft Jill had even seen. While
she scouted it, reading sign
like an Apache, Liri was busy
with other things.
"What do you want for
lunch?" he called.
"Oh, anything. Some All-
Purpose, I suppose. Plenty of
drinks."
"No All-Purpose on board,"
he said. "But I'll see what 1
can put together."
After a while he called to
her and she went out onto a
small sundeck where he was
just finished putting food on a
table.
"You mean you cooked it?"
She could hardly believe it.
"Yes."
"But it's — it's like work)"
"Pleasant hobby," he said.
"Anyway there aren't any
servants here."
"I suppose it's all right."
She picked at the food on
her plate — -it was real meat —
without enthusiasm and was
shocked — it tasted very good.
A slow understanding came to
her and she looked at Liri al-
most with awe, seeing his Work
in cooking the lunch as the
eccentricity of one rich and
powerful enough to afford it.
"You must have a tremen-
dous RR," she said boldly.
Liri ' was not interested in
THE SKITZ AND THE UNSKITZ
35
the subject. "I suppose so," he
said. "You said something
about the Day. What did that
mean?"
"You don't know about the
Day and the Night? Oh, I sup-
pose they do things differently
in Boston, but I thought every-
one knew about the Day. It's
C Day. That's California Day.
Or maySe it's Consumer's Day.
Some people even say it means
Capitalist Day — it started so
long ago that no one can really
remember."
"Why does it mean so much
to you?"
"Because that's the day
Amalgamated Joy makes its
selections. I thought everyone
knew that."
"I've been out of touch, I'm
afraid. And is this selection so
important to you?"
"It's the day all the Joy
Girls and all the contenders
are tested. That's how our
Responsibility Rating is de-
termined. Some of the old girls
are dropped out and some of
the neophytes are confined. I'm
a neophyte."
"And if you're selected?"
"I'm a full-fledged Responsi-
ble, then. I give up the gallery;
it means just about everything.
I become one of the Veblenite
elite—a perfect User."
"Veblen?"
"You know," she said impa-
tiently. "Theory of the Leisure
Class — that's the book all
government theory is based on,
they say."
"I see. You use, but you
don't make anything."
"Right."
"And the Hands?"
"They didn't have the abili-
ty to be Users, that's why
they have to drug themselves
with work. In the past only a
handful of people had the
strength of character to be
wholly Users. But now, with
the training of Amalgamate
Joy, lots of ug can. And it's
more democratic."
"And your husband? He
didn't like that?"
"No, Tony didn't like it.
Reactionary type, always talk-
ing of the old days. Maybe he
did go east with the Pioneers.
People say there have begun to
be settlements all through the
Unoccupied Territories — Iowa,
Illinois, North Dakota." She
stopped, a little hazy about the
geography.
"Tell me," he asked. "Are
you happy?"
"Happy? Of course, I'm
happy." Suddenly, terribly, she
began to cry. "It's too hard,"
she sobbed, thinking of the
Day, of the eleminatioris com-
ing up. "It's too hard."
36
SATURN
"Why don't you give it up?"
"I can't. Where would I
go?"
"It can be arranged," he
said.
As she blacked out, she was
asking herself, how could I
have got so drunk?
WHEN SHE WOKE UP,
™ her first thought was that
she was in her bed -in her
apartment . Then she saw the
man sitting in a chair against
the opposite wall. He was red-
headed and angular and hand-
some and completely impossi-
ble.
"Hello, Jill," he said.
"Tony!" ■
He came across and sat
down on the bed beside her.
"Tony! How did Liri— did
he bring. tn& to the Unoccupied
Territories?"
: "Farther than that, kitten.
This is another planet, another
star system."
"How could he have?"
"That gadget," he said,
pointing across the room to
what looked to Jill like a tricy-
cle in an odd no-shape kind of
box* ,
"Then he was one of the
Sightseers."
"Observers, they call them-
selves. When a country gets
close to space flight, they get
interested. Want to know what
their visitors might be like. So
they sort of pick up samples."
"But that's not fair! It's
kidnapping! It's — "
"It's pretty high-handed," he
admitted. "But they don't
harm you, you know."
"You mean they've kept you
all this time?"
"No. I could get in the mar-
chine and go back any time.
But I like it here. I have plen-
ty of time to paint, there's no
hustle and bustle. I'm free."
"Irresponsible seems to be
a better word," she sniffed.
"Let's not quarrel, kitten,"
he said. "All that talk about
Responsibility and Fun and
Wholly Using— that's what
wrecked you and me before.
Here all we have to do is be
ourselves. It's a real chance for
us to start over, to be happy
together."
She started to object, to say
that what he meant by happi-
ness was irresponsible and
wrong and bad. But she re-
membered that it was still the
Day, in her mind the Hands
went tapping down all the
streets, her nose itched from
Hashicola and she was worn
out from her strenuous joy.
She thought of Louise, felici-
ty's athlete, and her . constant
advice. Then she put her arms
THE SKITZ AND THE UNSKITZ
37
around Tony and pulled him
down beside her.
For a week it was perfect.
Everything was new and
strange. Tony painted in the
mornings— mostly sketches of
her— and in the afternoon they
took care of his homestead
since he raised most of his
own food. When she got over
her first feelings about the
work taboo she found it fun of
a limited sort. She was sur-
prised that there were no flow-
er machines in the garden but
only old-fashioned roses, lark-
spur, lupin. She found that
there were oak, chestnut and
willow trees not just, as she
had believed, palms.
There was no Spellcaster,
though. There was not even
old-fashioned radio. This lack
of material had been at first
merely offensive; later she
missed them as means of diver-
sion and asked him about
them.
"We don't need that stuff,
kitten," he said. He went over
to her and put his arms around
her. "Aren't we the stuff of
our own pleasure?"
She pulled herself away.
"That's not what I mean,
Tony," she said. "That's fine,
but after that, what is there to
do?"
A week later she had begun
to feel something like cabin
fever. She was posing for him
and now suddenly the question
she had asked knotted itself in
her throat and she got down
from the stand and asked
again. "But what is there to
do?"
Tony put down the brush
and wiped his hands. "You've
got to decide that for yourself,
Jill. Nobody can tell you. You
might make a life out of just
being yourself here, with me,
Or we could move to town and
you could get some job that
you liked. There's plenty to be
done."
"But I can't do anything,"
she said sullenly.
"You could learn."
"But "work's no jun\"
"I can't help you then."
Suddenly she saw that it was
going to be a real quarrel.
"You mean you won't," she
told him.
"I can't."
"You don't really care
about me. All you care about
is what you call your work."
She began to cry, pitying her-
self and wanting him to pity
her. "I'll go back," she sobbed.
"I'll go back right now." She
went over to the queer tricycle
contraption at the other end of
the room.
"Jill, I want to help you. If
38
SATURN
you know how I* can, then tell
me." ^_
"No ! " she said, screaming
now, knowing^ that she had
moved him. "You don't really
want to help. It's just the way
it was before. You're selfish!
Selfish! You don't really care
about me.'*
"Jill, for God's sake! What
do you want me to do?"
"Come back with me," she
said.
"I can't do that."
Now they were both silent
and she knew that it had
turned deadly serious and that
she had only one more card to
play.
"I'll go," she said in a high
warning voice like a parent
threatening a child.
Tony said nothing.
"Damn you," she screamed,
crying again. "You won't help
me. And I want to be happy!
I've got a right to be happy. I
want to have fun!"
She pressed a button on the
tricycle.
She was in her old apart-
ment. Through the wall, from
Louise's room she heard a high
hysterical giggle, the clink of
glasses, a monotonous and
furious sound of lovemaking;
a Banshee blasted in the street
and then there was the ticking
progress of the Hands, and
over and around and through
the other noises she heard her
own voice screaming, I want to
be happy! I want to have fun!
THE END
SPUTNIK SHOES
by CHARLES A. STEARNS
He found a new way to play hookey — by taking
a little stroll int <> outer space!
TT TOOK them twelve min-
J -utes to do in WiHy Martin.
That is an all-time record.
"Willy, who for several years
had gone quietly about his
business of cleaving the skulls
of lovely young women with a
hatchet, as they slept, knew
that death often comes easily,
and must have been surprised
that in his case it took so long.
By the time they finished
with him, he was parboiled and
basted to a turn, and no long-
39
40
SATURN
er had the slightest interest
in exposing the grey matter of
slumbering females.
When he had cooled off
enough to be approachable, the
prison doctor came in, ex-
amined him, and pronounced
him well done. The men came
with a litter, unshackled him
from the Chair, and bore him
off in triumph.
He had lost, but with a
flourish.
And, as was customary in
that sovereign state, they re-
moved Willy's scorched prison
garments from him and clad
him in a cheap, but neat, blue
serge suit. They took off his
heavy shoes, which, it is sig-
nificant to note, were not of
leather, but an obscure ersatz
material which had carbonized
and was as hard and crackly
as glass 'when the thing was
over.
Had anyone bothered to
measure— which they did not
— the electric potential of the
shoes, they would have discov-
ered a faint, but quite discern-
able magnetic field of curious
properties building up in that
strange material. It should
have been dimagnetic, but it
was not. It had subtly changed.
They put the shoes, with the
clothing; in a cardboard box
that had once carried canned
peaches, and replaced them
with thin, patent-leather ox-
fords which would do for the
state-sponsored funeral. Will
Martin, as someone remarket
had extremely small, neat fee
After being washed and shav -
en, the cadaver of Willy was
taken to Potter's Field and in-
terred with scant ceremony,
and the malignant influence
which that young man had cast
upon a world he did not under-
stand should have been gone
forever.
Should have been.
PROFESSOR SACCHA-
*■ RINO, sere and disillu-
sioned at fifty-two, sat like
Siva the Destroyer with folded
arms and idling brain, effect-
ing effortlessly the -apathetic
silence, if not the respect, of
his rabble brood. ,
He was a plump, gouty man,
with receding hair and receding
hopes. He was not, in particu-
lar, day dreaming, for all of
the dreams of a specialized
failure past middle age are
dead, and he had once be^n
a specialist. Once. But now
there were only a one-room
country school and forty grub-
by waifs between himself and
starvation.
Having once been a practic-
ing instructor of economics in
SPUTNIK SHOES
41
a famous and exclusive New
England private school, he un-
derstood this full well, and
loathed the vacuous faces be-
fore him as he had objectively
loathed them for four years.
Once, Professor Saccharino
was fond of telling himself, fie
had liked young people. In fact,
it had been his excessive af-
finity for one of the older girl
students at the New England
school which had forced his
banishment to this intellectual
Siberia. In a manner of speak-
ing, he had been banned in
Boston, and had come west
for his health.
It was late spring, and flies
swarmed through the open,
screenless windows. He swatted
them angrily, but his urchins
knew better than to try it. Bit-
terly enough, he supposed they
had learned that he was a mas-
ter in the old, heavy-handed
tradition.
Actually, in these dull, end-
less hours, he would have
looked with gratefulness upon
an infringement of regulations,
and today he was not disap-
pointed.
He did not recognize the
breach at once, but when the
realization was borne upon him
at last, and he saw who it was
that -had transgressed, he ex-
ulted quietly, and sat, observ-
ing the criminal from the cor-
ner of his eye, savoring his po-
"sition.
It was the boy known, ironi-
cally enough, as Brainy Phelps.
He had a large, useless head,
a hideous complexion, and ears
that were somewhat cylindrical.
In considering tfiis gargoyle,
whom he considered his per-
sonal nemesis, Professor Sac-
charino liked to remind him-
self that such Huck Finnish
atavisms as Brainy Phelps
were on their way out, evolu-
tionwise. Like the vermiform
appendix and the wisdom
tooth, they could be consid-
ered as a nasty reminder of
man's earthy origin.
The act was incredible
enough. Brainy had simply un-
buttoned his shirt, and was ex-
amining, with intent to incise
with jackknife, a boil upon his
stomach.
Nor was Professor Saccha-
rino the only person who
viewed this operation with in-
terest. In the next seat sat
Cassandra Watson, who,
though still in the eigth grade,
was almost fifteen years of
age.
Cassandra was old for her
age. All of the men who sat
on the green benches in front
of. the general store as she
came flouncing by agreed that
42
SATURN
she was old for her age. '
Cassandra liked males of all
shapes, ages, and sizes. Brainy
Phelps, ignorant of this fact,
was engrossed in his pustulec-
tomy. He was thirteen and had
no interest in girls.
Cassandra leaned over and
pinched him. It was strictly
a playful pinch, but playful
pinches have a habit of sting-
ing.
"Quit that/' said Brainy, in
a low voice.
She did.it again.
He lashed out with his bare
foot, 'rtie foot was like rhinoc-
eroushide, and the sturdy nail
raked her shin, bringing a
trickle of blood. Cassandra
yowled.
It was at this time that the
Assyrian came down, like a
wolf on the fold.
ORAINY PHELPS was a
■ young man inured to or-
dinary pain, and rather philo-
sophical about the unfairness
of boyhood, but when it was all
over he felt faint.
He had expected his hind-
quarters to burn incessantly,
and to that end he had fol-
lowed Professor Saccharino
docilely into the cloakroom.
This, in itself, should have
aroused his suspicions, for the
administration of justice usual-
ly took place before the eyes
of the school, as a warning.
He was trustful, however,
and the first inkling he had
that all was not well, came
with brutal swiftness, in the
form of a fist in his mouth.
Afterward, as a critical vet-
eran, he had to admit that it
had been a pretty fair beatyag.
Even his Old Man couldn't
have done better. He was
locked in the cloakroom, alone
for the remainder of the after-
noon with his seditious
thoughts, and peace reigned
outside his prison.
But peace was not in his
soul. Professor Saccharinio had
not laid a hand on Cassandra
Watson. The beating might
have been considered the di-
vine right of kings and school-
master, but that was injustice.
The longer he thought about
it, the madder he got. "Hell,"
he told himself, looking up at
the small window. "I could get
out of here if I wanted to."
Professor Saccharino's top-
coat, the fine relic of better
days, hung on a hanger against
the wall. He spat upon it, and
for a moment the coat was the
object of all his resentment.
He backed away and favored
it with a calculating look. Then
he took out his jackknife and
opened it. So often is crime
SPUTNIK SHOES
43
accomplished in a momentary
passsion and repented at lei-
sure.
A dozen quick strokes and
the die of his future was irre-
trievably cast forever. The coat
hung in shreds.
In another moment, heart
pounding he had scaled the
lunch pail racks, thrust a leg
" through the window, and
dropped to the ground, where
he availed himself of free
flight across the field and into
the brush.
O RAINY PHELPS had nev-
er owned more than one or
two pairs of shoes in his life,
there was nothing farther from
his mind than footwear as he
picked his way through the
Dumps.
The Dumps were for the
city of Topeka, which was
some twelve miles distant, and
they were a huge, strange and
wonderful acreage.
Presently he trod upon a
broken bottle, which pained
him considerably and would
have penetrated any ordinary
foot, and he was- hopping
about, cussing the glass, when
he discovered the shoes of Wil-
ly Martin.
They were of a dead, char-
coal black, and curled slightly
at the toes, and they had no
strings, so that he could step
into them with ease and even
shuffle around a little. The
state had not given Willy Mar-
tin shoestrings for fear that he
might cheat it of its pleasure.
The inner soles, touching the
pads of his feet, made them
tingle as when he used to walk
on the dry ice that Aeolus
Green, the grocer, threw out
behind his store. .
This did not frighten him.
Instead of removing the shoes,
as he should have done, he
delved into his capacious pock-
ets and brought out a ball 1 of
string. He unsnarled a few feet
of , it and sat down to lace the
shoes securely upon his feet.
He got up and took a few
wide-legged steps, admiring the
shoes. They flopped a little,
but they didn't fall off.
A raw, red gully stretched in
front of him. Beyond lay the
open meadow.
He had vaulted that gully a
thousand times, but never as
now. When he rose in the air,
the shoes clicked together, ex-
actly as a nail clicks to a mag-
net, and stuck! His feet were
rudely jerked from under him.
A mighty force swished him
along through the grass and
weeds. His shoulders and back
bumped against the high plac-
es, but the feet remained a
44
SATURN
good twelve inches above the
ground, impelled by some
strange, invisible undertow.
Brainy thought at first that
some hidden cable had snarled
him, but he soon saw that noth-
ing was attached to his shoes.
He didn't cry out. It hap-
pened too swiftly. But his head,
bumping the ground, and his
bruised elbows, gave him food
for hurried thought, and then
as suddenly as it had begun,
his heels were digging a fur-
row in the turf, and he came
to rest.
He sat up. He was a hundred
yards from where he had start-
ed, and he seemed to have run
into a gently rising hillock.
He bent over and pried his
feet loose from one another,
with some effort, and observed
them with stunned silence. He
was not notably superstitious,
but that he had discovered
something wonderful — and per-
haps terrible — he could not
doubt.
He made as if to remove the
shoes, then hesitated. The pow-
er seemed to accumulate only
when the shoes were together,
indicating that they somehow
complemented each other. (His
own reason was somewhat fog-
gier, but that was the idea.) If
be removed them, and they got
together, he would never see
them again. Also, someone
might take them away from
him.
Brainy Phelps sighed, took
a good, hard look at his feet,
and stood up. He took a cau-
tious step, then another. Noth-
ing happened. He inched the
shoes closer together. Still
closer. They clicked together
and he felt a kind of lateral
strain upon the material.
Then, very lightly, he leaped.
It was not more than a couple
of inches that he leaped, but
he was instantly scooting along
on his stomach. His clawing
hands caught a bush and hung
on grimly until he could dou-
ble up his legs and pry the
shoes apart.
"Godlemighty!" he testified.
PRESENTLY Brainy Phelps
found himself gazing, with
foreboding, upon his own door-
step. He had arrived home
with conscious effort, for he
would rather have been almost
anywhere else on earth. He
knew his limitations, however,
and figured, practically, that
he might as well eat once more
before running away, if he
could get by with it.
He went in and the Old Man
was lying, fully clothed, on
the couth, shoring. He wore a
green silk cowboy shirt and
SPUTNIK SHOES
, tooled cowboy boots with red
leather tops. The boots had
cost thirty dollars. They were
fine boots. An expensive,
broad-brimmed white Stetson
hung upon the corner of the
chair.
The Old Man was really
only a millworker, but he al-
ways dressed like a rodeo cow-
boy and it made Brainy real
proud to see him walk down
the street, even if he didjiave
to walk a block behind. There
were a couple of bottles in bed
with the Old Man, and he
smelled pretty high, so there
wasn't any danger for a while
of his waking up.
It was at such times that he
was able to steal enough money
out of the Old Man's pockets
to buy food for them. He made
good money, and seldom
missed a dollar or two. Of
course, when he did, it meant
a good lambasting, but they
had to eat.
Brainy found some beans
and threw them in the pot
along with 'yesterday's greens.
Then he cut some long strips
of hog jowl and added them
to the concoction, which as
anybody knows makes real
eating. He could hardly wait,
it made him so hungry. There
was some cornbread that the
widow Fisher, who had her
cap set for the Old Man, had
sent over, and he put that irf
the oven to warm while the
other cooked.- Then he went
out behind the woodshed and
sat down on a log to think.
His thoughts were practical.
"If a body could lock his arms
about his knees, and lean for-
ward in just the right position,
he might be able to keep from
bumping the ground." He had
the ominous feeling that the
strange force of the shoes con-
tinually accelerated them, and
that they might have no top
speed within the imagination of
man. A - body couldn't be too
careful with a thing like this.
First he made certain that
no one was in sight, and then
he aimed himself at a little
juniper bush, assumed a scien-
tific position, and jumped. He
soared along, just brushing the
tops of the weeds, and it was a
wonderful, exhilarating feeling.
The juniper gently caught
him.
His heart pounded all over
again with the excitement of
discovery., To tell the truth,
he had had a notion that it
was all a dream, what had hap-
pened back there at the
Dumps.
He was preparing to take
off again, but a car was roar-
ing up the lane. He watched
46
'SATURN
it with fascination until he
could recognize the driver.
Then he ducked behind the
shed.
Professor Saccharino got out
of the car. He picked his way
fastidiously through the
mounds of tin c a n s and rub 1
bish on the front lawn, and
knocked on Jhe front door.
The mutilated coat was over
his arm, and his round face
was an implacable mask.
Maybe the Old "TVIan
wouldn't wake up. Maybe he
would give up and go away.
But he didn't give up. He
just kept knocking louder, un-
til the Old Man, inside, bel-
low e d like a bull, and asked
who the hell it was waking
him up in the m i d d 1 e of the
night. When the Old Man was
real drunk, dynamite wouldn't
wake him.
He heard them talking to-
gether.
"Boy, come here!" That
was the Old Man.
He didn't breathe. Stealthi-
ly he drew himself up to the
rear window of the shed and
slithered onto the flat tin roof,
where .he lay flat', hoping they
wouldn't see him.
"I'm a comin' out there to
you, boy!" The Old Man took
off his broad, fancy belt, care-
fully removed the expensive
gold buckle, and took a couple
of swipes at the air for prac-
tice.
"There he is — on the roof!"
screamed Professor Sacchari-
no suddenly.
They had spied him, then.
He stood up shakily.
The Old Man put the belt
behind his back and smiled a
crooked, hypocritical smile.
"Come down here, son," he
said.
"See here," snapped Pro-
fessor Saccharino. "I mean to
have payment for this coat af-
ter the boy is disciplined. I
want that understood, sir.''
"Shut your mouth," the Old
Man said. "You boy! Come
down here."
"No," said Brainy.
The Old Man's mouth
sagged. He had never before
been openly defied. He
snatched a splintered plank
from the ground, threw it, and
it whistled through the air,
barely missing B rainy 's ear.
Brainy retreated to the oth-
er side of the roof. Beyond
lay the open fields and the
prairie. Beyond that, Topeka,
and vaguely a billion miles
away, the mountains and free-
dom.
He heard a scuffling sound
behind him. The Old Man was
' coming up.
SPUTNIK SHOES
47
He put, his feet together,
looked down at the shoes,
prayed to a divinity he hardly
knew, and jumped.
At once he was swishing
through the air, and the pres-
sure upon the tendons of his
legs was as if he squatted upon
a magic carpet. The Old Man
had seen him jump. He slid to
the ground and came running
around to head him off.
But when he saw that
Brainy hadn't landed, but was
gliding away just above his v
head, he cussed and made a
grab for him. He was still a
couple of sheets in the wind, it
seemed, and when he saw that
he couldn't quite reach his
son, he let loose with a string
of cusswords that filled Brainy
with grudging admiration.
It had been B rainy 's bad
judgment to direct his course
parallel with, and above the
main road, and the Old Man
ran along beneath him, high-
heeled boots pounding the
dust, and getting in a hurried
swat with the belt now and
then.
After a couple of minutes
he was out of breath, and
Brainy had a brief respite. He
thought that he had gotten
away, but he saw them climb
into Professor Saccharino's
automobile and take after him.
The Old Man opened the
door and climbed upon the
hood, then to the top of the
car. He looked like a daredev-
il rider, but it really wasn't
too dangerous, for they were
only moving about ten miles
an hour.
The car glided closer, and
the Old Man's lean, ugly face
was level with Brainy's own,
and his arms were outstretched
like the wings of a big buz-
zard. Then Providence inter-
vened. The car had to swerve
for the corner, and the Old
Man fell off.
The last thing he heard was
the Old Man hollering at him.
TOUT THE TRIUMPHANT
deliverance of Brainy
Phelps from his enemies was
not without its drawbacks. He
had gained considerable speed
by now, and was stirring up
quite a breeze, which revived
him mentally, and caused him
to consider the future.
He would continue upon his
course, he decided, until he
came to a tree. He would grab
the tree, climb down and con-
t i n u e on foot to the railroad
tracks, where he would hitch
a ride on a freight to the West
Coast. This might be a less
pleasant mode of transporta-
tion, but until he learned to
48
SATURN
control the magic shoes, it
would also be less dangerous
and unpredictable.
Presently he did pass near
to a tree, but it's topmost
branch was beneath his feet
and he could not reach it.
Then he knew that he was in
real trouble. He was gaining
altitude.
It made a cold band of fear
around his stomach. For all
his weakness in m o s t of the
liberal arts, Brainy was strong
in geography, for the simple
reason that he was an escapist
at heart, and all escapists are
good in geography. He was
aware of the curvature of the
earth, and he sensed the truth
— that instead of maintaining
their level in flight, the won-
derful shoes were in reality
moving at a tangent to the sur-
face of the earth. He couldn't
have explained it to anybody,
but he knew, all the same.
That was just after six
o'clock. A little before seven,
it occurred to him that he
could take off the shoes, but
he was now fifty feet above
the hard and uncompromising
ground, and he didn't dare.
By eight o'clock it was get-
ting dusk, and he could see the
outline of the Capitol Build-
ing in Topeka. He figured he
was doing at least thirty-five
miles an hour.
Over to the right, a black
car that might, or might not
be the Professor's, was follow-
ing him, but he welcomed it.
And in the outskirts of the city
a firetruck, . alerted, followed
him for a couple of blocks with
extended ladder, but they just
couldn't seem to get together,
quite. The ladder got tangled
in some electric cables. He
could hear lots of sirens.
That was all for a while.
Just before midnight a helicop-
ter appeared above him and
put down a rope ladder. He
was already a hundred miles
west of Topeka and picking up
speed.
It was only a small 'copter.
The ladder blew horizontally
in the wind, and the 'copter la-
bored to keep up. Finally it
fell behind.
He was cold, and the wind
was harsh in his face. He
ducked his head, and dozed
once, fitfully and briefly,
curled in a kind of ball,. He
wished that he had a jacket.
They had all given up, and
he knew now that he would
crash into the mountains, and
that would be the end of that.
But he didn't. He opened
his eyes in the early light of
dawn, and there was frost on,
his lids, and he could scarcely;
SPUTNIK SHOES
49
get his breath. Below him was
the gray foothills, and the
peaks rose on either side. He
was too stiff to move. The sun-
rise was the last thing he saw,
reflected on the snow-capped
summits. The cold pressed in.
He grew drowsier, drowsier,
and slept, unknowing and un-
caring.
And Bis velocity, as he hur-
tled above the earth, acceler-
ated in a steadily increasing
curve, and the Earth fell away
more rapidly than ever, and
presently, had he been able to
see it, it would have appeared
as a great sphere behind him.
The frost of outer night was
upon his eyelids, however, and
he did not know when he
passed the sonic barrier, for he
was frozen solid as three-day-
old cornpone.
HTHE" FORM of Brainy
Phelps, a pkiful little lump
of static molecules, drifted
among the stars.
The strange force that was
in the shoes, and which could
not have been artifically or na-
turally duplicated within a bil-
lion years of trying, so precise
was its value, had no limita-
tions and soon approached
light speed. It was all the same
to Brainy, of course.
Certain watchers, however,
from a dark planet within the
galactic rim, detected the ap-
pearance of a small,, unidenti-
fied object one day within their
firmament, and being a natur-
ally curious race, sent out a
ship with tractor beams to
capture it and bring it in.
It was Brainy, of course, and
they detected the singular pow-
er in the shoes at once and
were very favorably impressed.
They had not known that any
race other than themselves
possessed the secret of space
travel — much less without a
ship — and they had been
around quite a long-time and
knew a lot of worlds.
But Brainy was indifferent
to this too, and it occurred to
them that if they would con-
verse with him, they must first
thaw him out.
This they achieved, but it
was quite a job, for the molec-
ular structure of the body had
been broken down, to a great
extent, by the freezing and
thawing, and the brain, in par-
ticular, had almost to be re-
built from the cortex up.
When they finished, Brainy
Phelps yawned broadly and
awakened.
They talked through the use
of pantomime and a few words
mutually learned. It was not
very satisfactory, and. natural-
50
SATURN
ly they could not learn from
him whence he came, since his
term for Earth was meaning-
less to them. Just the same,
they were able to place his ori-
gin with some accuracy be-
cause of his trajectory, and the
effect of continuous bombard-
ment of cosmic radiation upon
his cells.
They were kind and consid-
erate, and it made Brainy feel
pretty important the way they
took him for a major scientist
of his race, even if he couldn't
quite see them. The spectral
values of their bodies were
such that his eyes were not
adapted to the task, and he
had to squint, but they were
Still only shadows.
They were a gregarious
race, and were looking, just as
aliens always are, for a hospi-
table «worId other than their
own to settle on.
"You mean an Invasion?"
said Brainy who had heard
dark rumors of such things be-
fore. \
"Of dear, no," they said.
"Rather infiltration. We have
a very adaptable life-form, and
there is a saying here, 'When
in Syxygia, do as the Syxygians
do!' The Terrans will not even
know we are there, and we will
be able to contribute a little,
perhaps, to the native culture.
We are peace-loving and com-
pletely non-a ggressive. Of
course, you must help point
out the proper planet."
"I don't know," Brainy said.
He wasn't so sure that he want-
ed to go back and face the
Old Man and Professor Saccha-
rino. "What if they i'md out
we're there?"
The aliens shuddered all
through their amorphous bod-
ies. "Please!" they said. "We
mustn't think about it. It
would be so messy!"
"Okay," Brainy said. "When
do we leave?''
"The assumption of human
form will take a few hours.
Then we may go."
"Make it snappy," Brainy
said. "I'm kind of hungry."
TT WAS FIFTEEN to eight,
that mellow spring morning
that it happened.
Professor Saccharino had
not mellowed, however, with
the passing of the seasons, and
recalled, as in a dream that
black afternoon two springs
ago when he had been less sure
of the inevitability of his drab
life than now.
Since daybreak this morning
he had felt a curious restive-
ness, and almost longed for the
clamour of settling down to
the dajly pattern of study.
SPUTNIK SHOES
SI
That, at least, would furnish
company for his thoughts.
He glanced at the clock on
the wall, took the school bell
off his desk and went to the
door.
He jangled it a couple of
times and drew back to let
them pass before him, like a
general inspecting his troops.
They came in a subdued stream
past him, the scrubbed little
boys and girls of the primary
classes, the all-wise ragamuf-
fins and coquettish damsels of
ten, and the older students,
either sullen or preoccupied by
each other.
Cassandra Watson came
through the door. The passing
of the seasons had done won-
ders for Cassandra. It was
rather too bad that this was
her last year. She favored him
with a smile and a distracting
wiggle.
He nodded.
An unruly redhead marched
before his field of vision. A fa-
miliar head.
It did not seem strange at
the moment, though - he had
last seen Brainy Phelps flitting
over the tree tops in the gener-
al direction of the Pacific
Ocean.
More featureless faces. Then
he saw the head again, and this
time there could be no doubt.
"You," he said and grabbed
the boy's arm.
Brainy looked up at him and
grinned. It was a secret, un-
dismayed grin, and it disturbed
Professor Saccharino more than
he could say.
Brainy wriggled loose from
his grip and took his seat be-
side the other two red-headed
boys that were sitting in the
front row.
Professor Saccharino, ob-
serving them, shuddered as
though with the ague. There
were three of them there, un-
combed unbrushed unkempt,
waiting to be instructed.
They were all identical.
He ran to the window and
threw up the sash, leaning far
out to gulp the fresh air and
revive himself, for he felt faint
and ill.
But it was no good!
The schoolyard was full of
Brainies.
THE END
THE POWDER
OF HYPERBOREA
by CLARK ASHTON SMITH
The theft of the thirty-nine girdles of virginity!
A newly translated legend from the days before
Atlantic, on the world's first inhabited continent.
T ET IT BE said as a fore-
word to this tale that I have
robbed no man who was not in
some way a robber of others. In
all my long and arduous career,
I, Satampra, Zerios of Uzul-
daroum, sometimes known as
the master-thief have endeav-
ored to serve merely as an
agent in the rightful redistribu-
tion of wealth. The adventure
I have now to relate was no ex-
ception; though as it happened
in the outcome, my own pecuni-
ary profits were indeed meager,
not to say trifling.
Age is upon me now. And
sitting at that leisure which I
have earned through many haz-
ards, I drink the wines that are
heartening to age. To me, as I
sip, return memories of splen-
did loot and brave nefarious
enterprise. Before me shine the
outpoured sackfuls of djals or
pazoors, removed so dexterous-
ly from the coffers of iniqui-
tous merchants and money-
lenders. I dream of rubies red-
der than the blood that was
shed for them; of sapphires
bluer than depths of glacial
ice; of emeralds greener than
the jungle in spring. I recall the
escalade of pronged balconies;
the climbing of terraces and
towers guarded by monsters;
the sacking of altars beneath
the eyes of malign idols or sen-
tinel serpents.
Often I think of Vixeela, my
one true love and the most
adroit and courageous of my
companions in burglary. She
has long since gone to the
bourn of all good thieves and
52
THE, POWDER OF HYPERBOREA
53
comrades; I have mourned her
sincerely these many years.
But still dear is the memory of
our amorous, adventurous
nights and the feats we per-
formed together. Of such feats,
perhaps the most signal ipid au-
dacious was the theft of the
thirty-nine girdles.
These ,were the golden and
jeweled chastity girdles, worn
by the virgins vowed to the
moon god Leniqua, whose tem-
ple had stood from immemorial
time in the suburbs of Uzul-
daroum, capital of Hyperborea.
The virgins were always thirty-
nine in number. They were
chosen for their youth and
beauty, and retired from serv-
ice to the god at the age of
thirty-one.
The girdles were padlocked
with' the toughest bronze and
their keys retained by the high-
priest who, on certain nights,
rented them at a high price to
the richer gallants of the city.
It will thus be seen that the
virginity of the priestesses was
nominal; but its frequent and
repeated sale was regarded as
a meritorious act of sacrifice to
the god.
Vixeela herself had at one
time been numbered among the
virgins but had fled from the
temple and from Uzuldaroum
several years before the sacer-
dotal age of release from her
bondage. She would tell me lit-
tle of her life in the temple;
I surmised that she had found
small pleasure in the religious
prostitution and had chafed at
■the confinement entailed by it.
After her flight she had suf-
fered many hardships in the
cities of the south. Of these too,
she spoke but sparingly, as one
who dreads the reviving of
painful recollections.
She had returned to Uzul-
daroum a few months prior to
our first meeting. Being now
a little over age, and having
dyed her russet-blonde hair to
a raven black, she had no great
fear of recognition by Leni-
qua's priests. As was their cus-
tom, they had promptly re-
placed her loss with another
and younger virgin, and would
have small interest now in one
so long delinquent.
AT THE TIME of our fore-
gathering, Vixeela had al-
ready committed various petty
larcenies. But, being unskilled,
she had failed to finish any
but the easier and simpler ones,
and had grown quite thin from
starvation. She was still attrac-
tive and her keenness of wit
and quickness in learning soon
54
SATURN
endeared her to- me. She was
" small and agile and could
climb like a lemur. I soon
found her help invaluable, since-
she could climb through win-
dows and other apertures im-
passable, to my greater bulk.
We had consummated sev-
eral lucrative burglaries, when
the idea of entering Leniqua's
Jemple and making away with
the costly girdles occurred to
me. The problems offered, and
the difficulties to be overcome,
appeared at first sight little less
than fantastic. But such ob-
stacles have always challenged
my acumen and have never
daunted me.
Firstly, there was the prob- "
lem of entrance without detec-
tion and serious mayhem at the
hands of the sickle-armed
priests who guarded Leniqua's
fane with baleful and incorrup-
tible vigilance. Luckily, during
her term of temple service, Vix-
eela had learned of a subter-
ranean adit, long disused but,
she believed still passable. This
entrance was through a tunnel,
the continuation of a natural
cavern located somewhere in
the woods behind Uzuldaroum.
It had been used almost univer-
sally -by the virgins' visitors in
former ages. But the visitors
now entered openly by the tem-
ple's main doors or by posterns
little less public; a sign, per-
haps, that religious sentiment
had deepened or that modesty
had declined.
Vixeela had never seen the
cavern^herself but she knew its
approximate location. The tem^
pie's inner adit was closed only
by a flagstone, easily levitated
from below or above, behind
the image of Leniqua in the
great nave.
Secondly, there was the se-
lection of a proper time, when
the women's girdles had been
unlocked and laid aside. Here
again Vixeela was invaluable,
since she knew die nights on
which the rented keys were
most in demand. These were
known as nights of sacrifice,
greater or lesser, the chief one
being at the moon's full. All
the women were then in repeat-
ed request.
Since, however, the fane on
such occasions would be crowd-
ed with people, the priests, the
virgins and their clients, a
seemingly insurmountable dif-
ficulty remained. How were we
to collect and make away with
the girdles in the presence of so
many persons? This, I must ad-
mit, baffled me.
Plainly, we must find some
way in which the temple could
THE POWDER OF HYPERBOREA
55
be evacuated, or its occupants
rendered unconscious or other-
wise incapable during the peri-
od needed for our operations.
I thought of a certain sopor-
ific drug, easily and quickly
vaporized, which I had used
on more than one occasion to
put the inmates of a house
asleep. Unfortunately the drug
was limited in its range and
would not penetrate to all the
chambers and alcoves of a large
edifice like the temple. More-
over it was necessary to wait
for a full half hour, with doors
or windows opened, till the
fumes were dissipated; other-
wise the robbers would be over-
come together with their vic-
tims.
There was also the pollen of
a rare jungle lily, which, if cast
in a man's face, would induce
a temporary paralysis. This too
I rejected. There were too
many persons to be dealt with,
and the pollen could hardly be
obtained in sufficient quanti-
ties.
At last I decided to consult
the magician and alchemist, Ve-
ezi Phenquor, who, possessing
furnaces and melting-pots, had
often served me by converting -
stolen gold and silver into in-
gots or other safely unrecogniz-
able forms. Though skeptical
of his powers as a magician, I
regarded Veezi Phenquor as a
skilled pharmacist and toxicolo-
gist. Having always on hand a
supply of strange and deadly
medicaments, he might well be
able to provide something that
would facilitate our project.
We found Veezi Phenquor
decanting one of his more noi-
some concoctions from a still
bubbling and steaming kettle
into vials of stout -stoneware.
By the smell I judged that it
must be something of special
potency; the exudations of a
polecat would have been innoc-
uous in comparison. In his ab-
sorption he did not notice our
presence until the entire con-
tents of the kettle had been de-
canted and thevials tightly
stoppered and sealed with a
blackish gum.
"That," he observed with
unctuous complacency, "is a
love-philter that would inflame
a nursing infant or resurrect
the powers of a dying nonagen-
arian. Do you — "
"No," I said emphatically.
"We require nothing of the
sort. "What we need at the mo-
ment is something quite differ-
ent." In a few terse words I
went on to outline the problem,
adding:
"If you can help us, I am
56
SATURN
sure you will find the melting
down of the golden girdles a
congenial task. As usual, you
will receive a third of the prof-
its." '
Veezi Phenquor creased his
bearded face into a half-lubri-
cious, half-sardonic smile.
"The proposition is a pleas-
ant one from all angles. We will
free the temple-girls from in-
cumbrances which they must
find uncomfortable, not to say
burdensome; and wilLturn the
irksome gems and metal to a
worthier purpose — notably, our
own enrichment." As if by way
of afterthought, he added:
"It happens that I can supply
you with a most unusual prep-
aration, warranted to empty
the temple of all its occupants
in a very short time."
Going to a cobwebbed cor-
oner, he took down from a high
shelf and abdominous jar oT un-
colored glass filled with a fine
grey powder and brought it to
the light.
"I will now," he said, "ex-
plain to you^the singular prop-
erties of this powder and the
way in which it must be used.
It is truly a triumph of chemis-
try, and more devastating than
a plague."
We were .astounded by what
he told us. Then we began to-
laugh.
"It is to be hoped," I said,
"that none of your spells and
cantraips and involved."
Veezi Phenquor assumed the
expression of one whose feel-
ings have been deeply injured.
"I assure you," he protested,
"that the effects of the powder,
though extraordinary, are not-
beyond nature."
After a moment's rneditati>>n
he continued: "I believe that I
can further your plan in other
ways. After the abstraction of
the girdles, there will be the
problem of transporting unde-
tected such heavy merchandise
across a city which, by that
time, may well have been
aroused by the horrendous
crime and busily patrolled by
constabulary. I have a
plan . . . . "
We hailed with approval the
ingenious scheme outlined by
Veezi Phenquor. After we had
discussed and settled to our
satisfaction the various details,
the alchemist brought out cer
tain liquors that proved mor
palatable than anything of hi
we had yet sampled. We the
returned to our lodgings, I car
rying in my cloak the jar o
powder, for which -Veezi Phe
quor generously refused to a
cept payment. We were fill
THE POWDER OF HYPERBOREA
57
with the rosiest anticipations of
success, together with a modi-
cum of distilled palm-wine.
Discreetly, we refrained"
from our usual activities during
the nights that intervened be-
fore the next full moon. We
kept closely to our lodgings,
hoping that the police, who had
long suspeeted us of numerous
peccadilloes, would believe that
we had either quitted the city
or retired from burglary.
A LITTLE before midnight,
on the evening of the full
moon, Veezi Phenquor knocked
discreetly at our door — a triple
knock as had been agreed. Like
ourselves, he was h e a v i i y
cloaked in peasant's homespun.
"I have procured the cart of
a vegetable seller from the
country," he said. "It is loaded
with seasonable produce and
drawn by two small asses. I
have concealed it in the woods,
as near to the cave-adit of Leni-
fjua's temple as the overgrown
road will permit. Also, I have
reconnoitered the cave itself.
"Our success will depend on
the utter confusion created. If
we are not seen to enter or de-
iwrt by the rear adit, in all like-
I ! )ood no one will remember its
stence. The priests will be
< arching elsewhere.
"Having removed the girdles
and concealed them under our
load of farm produce, we will
then wait till the hour before
dawn when, with other vege-
table and fruit dealers, we will
enter the city."
Keeping as far as we could
from the public places, where
most of the police were gath-
ered around taverns and the
cheaper lupanars, we circled
across Uzuldaroum and found,
at some distance from Leni-
qua's fane, a road that ran
country-ward. The jungle soon
grew denser and the houses
fewer. No one saw us when we
turned into a side road over-
hung with leaning palms and
closed in by thickening brush.
After many devious turnings,
we came to the ass-drawn cart,
so cleverly screened from view
that even I could detect its
presence only by the pungent
aroma of certain root-vegeta-
bles. Those asses were well-
trained for the use of thieves:
there was no braying to betray
their presence.
We groped on, over hunching
roots and between clustered
boles that made the rest of the
way impassable for a cart. I
should have missed the cave;
but Veezi Phenquor, pausing,
stooped before a low hillock to
part the matted creepers, show-
58
SATURN
ing a black and bouldered aper-
ture large enough to admit a
man on hands and knees.
Lighting the torches we had
brought along, we crawled into
the cave, Veezi going first.
Luckily, due to the rainless
season, the cave was dry and
our clothing suffered only
earth-stains, such as would be
proper to agricultural workers.
The cave narrowed where
piles of debris had fallen from
the roof. I, with my width and
girth, was hard put to squeeze
through in places. We had gone
an undetermined distance when
Veezi stopped and stood erect
before a wall of smooth mason-
ry in which shadowy steps
mounted.
Vixeela slipped past him and
went up the steps. I followed.
The fingers of her . free hand
were gliding over a large flat
flagstone that filled the stair-
head. The stone began to tilt
noiselessly upward. Vixeela
blew out her torch and laid it
on the top step while the gap
widened, permitting ~~a dim,
flickering light to pour down
from beyond. She peered cau-
tiously over the top of the flag,
which became fully uptilted by
its hidden mechanism and then
climbed through motioning us
to follow.
We stood in the shadow of a
broad pillar at one side of the
back part of Leniqua's temple.
No priest, woman or visitor was
in sight but we heard a con-
fused humming of voices at
some vague remove. Leniqua's
image, presenting its reverend
rear, sat on a high dais in the
center of the nave. Altar firts,
golden, blue and green, flamed
spasmodically before the god,
making his shadow writhe pn
the floor and against the rear
wall like a delirious giant in a
dance of copulation with an un-
seen partner.
Vixeela found and manipu-
lated the spring that caused the
flagstone to sink back as par'
of a level floor. Then the threr
of us stole forward, keeping in
the god's wavering shadow. The
nave was still vacant but noise
came more audibly from open
doorways at one side, resolving
itself into gay cries and hysteri-
cal laughters.
"Now," whispered Veezi
Phenquor.
I drew from ^ a side-pocket
the vial he had given us and
pried away the wax with a
sharp knife. The cork, half-
rotten with age, was easily re
moved. I poured the vial's con
tents on the back bottom stej
of Leniqua's dais — a pale
THE POWDER OF HYPERBOREA
Green
59
stream that quivered and undu-
lated with uncanny life and
luster as it fell in the god's
shadow. When the vial was
empty I ignited the heap of
powder.
TT BURNED instantly with a
clear,^ higlvleaping flame.
Immediately, it seemed, the air
was full of surging phantoms —
a soundeless, multitudinous ex-
plosion, beating upon us, blast-
-jfig- otir nostrils with charnel fe-
tors till we reeled before it,
choking and strangling. There
was however no sense of ma-
terial impact from the hideous
forms that seemed to melt over
and through us, rushing in all
directions, as if every atom of
the burning powder released a
separate ghost.
Hastily we covered our noses
with squares of thick cloth that
Veezi had warned us to bring
for this purpose. Something of
our usual aplomb returned and
we moved forward through the
seething rout. Lascivious blue
cadavers intertwined around us.
Miscegenations of women and
tigers arched over us. Monsters
double-headed and triple-tailed,
goblins and ghouls rose oblique-
ly to the far ceiling or rolled
and melted to other and more
nameless apparitions in lower
air.
sea-t h i n g s, 1* ^
unions of drowned men a n ,
cotopi coiled and dribbled w> t):1
dank slime along the floor. f
Then we heard the cries
fright from the temple's &~
mates and visitors and beg 311
to meet naked men and worn e £
who rushed frantically through
that army ef beleagueri og
phantoms toward the exi t5 '
Those who encountered us f» c6
to face recoiled as if we t°°
were shapes of intolerable h0*~
ror.
The naked men were mos^J
young. After them came mi"~
die-aged merchants and ald^ r "
men, bald and pot-bellied, sorP e
clad in undergarments, some lJ1
snatched-up cloaks too short to
cover them below the hif? 5 '
Women, lean, fat or buxoi**'
tumbled screaming for the cn* t_
er doors. None of them, we s»*t
with approbation, had retain*^
her chastity girdle.
Lastly came the priests,
mouths like gaping squares &\
terror, emitting shrill cries. A>]
of them had dropped th~ lf
sickles. They passed us, blind^
disregarding our presence, aX*^
ran after the rest. The host O
powder-born specters soo** 1
shrouded them from view.
Satisfied that the temple W^J
now empty of its inmates a»
60
SATURN
clients) we turned our attention
to the first corridor. The doors
of the separate rooms were all
open. We divided our labors,
taking each a room, and remov-
ing from disordered beds and
garment-littered floors the
cast-off girdles of gold and
gems. We met at the corridor's
end, where our collected loot
was thrust into the strong thin
sack I had carried under my
cloak. Many of the phantoms
still lingered, achieving new
and ghastlier fusions, dropping
their members upon us as they
began to diswreathe.
Soon we had searched all the
rooms apportioned to the wom-
en. My sack was full, and I had
counted thirty-eight girdles at
the end of the third corridor.
One girdle was still missing;
but Vixeela's sharp eyes caught
the gleam of an emerald-stud-
ed buckle protruding from un-
der the dissolving legs of a
hairy satyr-like ghost on a pile
of male garments in the corner.
She snatched up the girdle and
carried it in her hand hence-
forward.
We hurried back to Leni-
qua's nave, believing it to be
vacant of all human occupants
by now. To our disconcertion
the High Priest, whose name
Vixeela knew as Marquanos,
was standing before the altar,
striking blows with a long phal-
lic rod of bronze, his insignia of
office, at certain apparitions
that remained floating in the
air. ,
Marquanos rushed toward us
with a harsh cry as we neared
him, dealing a blow at Vixeela
that would have brained her if
she had not slipped agilely to
one side. The High Priest stag-
gered, nearly losing his balance.
Before he could turn upon her
again, Vixeela brought down on
his tonsured head the heavy
chastity girdle she bore in her
right hand. Marquanos top-
pled like a slaughtered ox be-
neath the pole-ax of the butch-
er, and lay prostrate, writhing
a little. Blood ran in rills from
the serrated imprint of the
great jewels on his scalp.
Whether he was dead or still
living, we did not pause to as-
certain. '
TWE MADE our exit without
delay. After the fright they
had received, there was small
likelihood that any of the tem-
ple's denizens would venture to
return for some hours. The
movable slab fell smoothly back
into place behind us. We hur-
ried along the underground
passage, I 'carrying the sack
THE POWDER OF HYPERBOREA
61
and the others preceding me. in
order to drag it through strai-
tened places and over piles of
rubble when I was forced to set
it down. We reached the creep-
er-hung entrance without inci-
dent. There we paused awhile
before emerging into the moon-
streaked woods, and listened
cautioQsly to cries that dimin-
ished with distance. Apparently
no one had thought of the rear
adit or had even realized that
there was any such human mo-
tive as robbery behind the in-
vasion of terrifying specters.
Reassured 4 , we came forth
from the cavern and found* our
way back to the hidden cart
and its drowsing asses. We
threw enough of the fruits and
vegetables into the brush to
make a deep cavity in the cart's
center in which our sackful of
loot was then deposited and
covered over from sight. Then,
settling ourselves on the grassy
ground, we waited for the hour
before dawn. Around us after
awhile, we heard the furtive
slithering and scampering of
small animals that devoured
the comestibles we had cast
away.
If any of us slept, it was, so
to speak, with one eye and one
ear. We rose in the horizontal
sifting of the last moonbeams
and long eastward-r u n n i n g
shadows of early twilight.
Leading our asses, we ap-
proached the highway and
stopped behind the brush while
an early cart creaked by. Si-
lence ensued, and we broke
from the wood and resumed
our journey cityward before
other carts came in sight.
In our return through out-
lying streets we met only a few
early passers, who gave us no
second glance.- Reaching the
neighborhood of Veezi Phen-
quor' house, we consigned the
cart to his care and watched
him turn into the courtyard un-
challenged and seemingly unob-
served by others than our-
selves. He was, I reflected, well
supplied- with roots and fruits.
We kept closely to our lodg-
ings for two days. It seemed
unwise to remind the police of
our presence in Uzuldaroum by
any public appearance. On the
evening of the second day our
food supply ran short and we
sallied out in our rural cos-
tumes td a nearby market
which ve had never before pa-
tronized.
Returning, we found evi-
dence that Veezi Phenquor had
paid us a visit during our ab-
sence, in spite of the fact that
all the doors and windows had
62
SATURN
been, and still were, carefully
locked. A small cube of gold
reposed on the table, serving as
paper-weight for a scribbled
note. v
The note read:
"My esteemed friends and
companions: After removing
the various gems, I have melt-
ed down all the gold into ingots,,
and am leaving one of them
as a token of my great regard.
Unfortunately, I have learned
that I am being watched by the
police and am leaving Uzul-
daroum under circumstances of
haste and secrecy, taking the
other ingots and all the jewels
in the ass-drawn cart, covered
up by the vegetables I have
provientially kept, even though
they are slightly stale by now.
I expect to make a long jour-
ney, in a direction which I can-
not specify — a journey well be-
yond the jurisdiction of our lo-
cal police, and one on which I
trust you will not be perspica-
cious enough to follow me. I
shall need the remainder of our
loot for my expenses, et cetera.
Good luck in all your future
ventures. Respectfully, Veezi
Phenquor
"POSTSCRIPT : You too
are being watched, and I advise
you to quit the city with all
feasible expedition. Marquanos,
in spite of a well-cracked maz-
zard from Vixeela's blow, re-
covered full consciousness late
yesterday. He recognized in
Vixeela^ a former temple-girl
through the trained dexterity of
her movements. He has not
been able to identify her; but a
thorough and secret search is
being made, and other girls
have already been put to the
thumb-screw and toe-screw by
Leniqua's prieste.
• "You and I, my dear Satam-
pra, have already been listed,
though not yet identified, as
possible accomplices of the girl.
A man of your conspicious
height and bulk is being sought.
The Powder oi the Fetid Ap-
paritions, some traces of which
were found on Leniqua's dais,
has already been analyzed.
Unluckily it has been used be-
fore both by myself and other
alchemists.
"I hope you will escape
on other paths than the one I
am planning to follow."
THE END
NEVER MARRY
A VENERIAN
by CHARLES L. FONTENAY
The Camnovm of Venus had reputations that
were system wide, but still how could a girl
resist such a super-dreamboat!
T ASSA met Tobi at one of the
sidewalk cafes in Lotus, the
most cosmopolitan metropolis
of Venus, and it was not until
much later that she realized,
with an amused shock, that she
had permitted herself to be
' 'picked up."
Tobi, tall and dark, waved
away the waiter who ap-
64
SATURN
proached when Lassa gave him
smiling permission to share her
table.
"Nothing," said Tobi. "I
just wish to sit arid watch the
passers-by, and perhaps amuse
this charming young lady with
my idle conversation."
He did amuse her. He fas-
cinated her. He knew more
about Venus and things Ven-
erian than anyone else she had
met on this extended vacation.
His knowledge went far be-
yond common things, too. He
was brilliant and understand-
ing.
Lassa was surprised to learn
they had been talking for
three hours, when Hal ap-
peared beside their table.
"Miss Virdo, your mother
sends word that you should be
getting dressed for the party
tonight," said Hal.
"Thank you, Hal," she
said. "Tell Mother I'll be up
right away."
Hal bowed slightly and left
them.
"A very gracious gentle-
man," remarked Tobi, and Las-
sa read into his tone a faint
reproach for not having in-
troduced Hal. She smiled.
"Hal is a robot," she ex-
plained. "The Virdo family ro-
bot, A remarkable likeness to
the human, don't you think?"
"I'm surprised he is still a
servant," said Tobi. "On Ven-
us, you know, robots have
equal rights with humans."
"Hal's loyalty is built into
him," she said. "We had him
built on Luna especially for
this trip. No broadcast power
here, you know, so we have to
plug him in every night to re-
charge his generators. And
now I'm sorry, but I really
must go." ■ ,
They saw each other often
after that, dancing, driving
through the colorful sand hills,
swimming in the artificial lake
north of Lotus.
"You are the first really in-
telligent woman I have ever
known, Lassa," Tobi told her
soberly. "Most women are all
body and no brains.''
"But don't you like my body
too, Tobi?" she asked, a little
piqued.
"Your face and body are
perfect," he assured her. "I
admire perfection, but it is very
rare."
So the time came when, Tobi
having said nothing about it,
she asked him to marry her.
"Are you sure it's me you
admire, Lassa, and not just a
strong, handsome body?" he
asked. There was anxiety in his
tone. '
NEVER MARRY A VENERIAN
65
"You are - strong and hand-
some, Tobi," she said, patting
his arm. His muscles were like
iron. "But I think most of all
I love you for your- mind. You
are the most brilliant and tal-
ented person I have ever
known."
Of course, Rico raised tear-
ful objections to the engage-
ment, as Lassa had expected.
Rico was from Earth, and
there had been an understand-
ing between them.
"It wasn't so much for my
sake, Lassa,'' Rico implored.
"But at least choose an Earth-
man to marry. Don't you know
Venerian law? Don't you know
that on Venus a wife becomes
her husband's slave and cannot
divorce him?"
"Please, Rico," she said stiff-
ly. "I certainly am not marry-
ing Tobi with the idea of di-
vorcing him."
The wedding^ in the great
Cathedral of the Golden Lotus,
went off like clockwork. The
bride and groom fled in a show-
er of real Terrestrial rice, and
by nightfall were established
in a room of the beautiful Ho-
tel Venus de Milo, on the far
side of the lake.
They passed up supper,
though Lassa objected that
"I've never sat across a table
from you since the day we
met." But Tobi was tired. His
shoulders drooped and his
movements were slow. It made
her wonder if he was as young
as he looked.
They retired to the bridal
suite. In the tub, Lassa relaxed
in a bubble bath and luxuriat-
ed in delicious trepidation.
"How many brides," she
wondered, "go through this
range of emotions on their wed-
ding nights? Do all of them
wonder if they have made the
right choice? Do all of them
think, all at once, 'I don't real-
ly know the man I married at
all?' "
Clean and soft, she emerged
. into the bedroom in filmy
negligee. Tobi had removed his
shirt, but that was all. He was
sitting in the big easy chair,
waiting for her.
"Is something wrong, Tobi?"
she asked in alarm. "You
aren't ill, are you?"
"Nothing's wrong," he said.
As she approached, he lifted
his hand and held out to her
the plug end of an electric
cable.
"What's this?" she asked.
He turned his back to her.
Horrified, she saw the socket
between his shoulder blades.
"Plug me in," he ordered.
THE END
REQUIEM FOR
A SMALL PLANET
by RAY CUMMINGS
The last story of one of science-fiction's original
greats — and as timely as tomorrow's headlines.
TTHE VOICE of the Hittag tant hills. And you could see
city was always a restless, the blotch of its glow-lights,
muttering murmur, floating Sometimes the voice would rise
here from far off over the dis- as though in anger. Sometimes
66
REQUIEM FOR A SMALL PLANET
67
the blotch would spread, then
die away and surge again.
Restless; active with the strug-
gle for accomplishment. To
Jan, as he stretched sprawled
on the blue sward, comfortable
and lazy with the fullness of
the food inside him, it seemed
that the intruding presence of
the distant Hittags was the
only dissonance here in his lit-
tle world. The shimmering blue
pool at his feet was beautiful.
Mara's music, as she played
and sang to herself after the
evening meal, was sweet and
gentle like herself. The per-
fume of the flowers massed
around the garden and Mara's
dwelling here, the shining opa-
lescence of the eternal twilight,
seemed to make Jan's soul ex-
pand so that life was holding
everything that one could want.
But always — all Jan's young
life — the jangle of the Hittag's
was off there beyond the pur-
ple hills.
Now little Mara came
through the dwelling entrance
into the garden. Her stringed
lute was in her hand. Her long
pale hair, the pale draped robe,
shimmered blue in the warm
dimness. Her gentle beauty
was like an aura around her.
"Jan?"
He stirred on the sward.
"Yes, Mara? Here I am." He
sat up, smiling, extended his
hand as she came to him so ,
that he drew her down, reclin-
ing beside him.
"Play more, Mara."
The stirring flying things
cheeped to join her music, lit-
tle vivid blobs of color as they
flitted among the blue-gold
leaves. The fountain of the t
pool was a soft background of
harmony.
But the Hittag splotch in
the blur of distance was mut-
tering loud tonight. Jan could
see that Mara's blue eyes were
troubled.
He stopped her music.
"What is it, Mara? There is
something wrong?"
It seemed such a momentous
question.
"Old Mama Megan," she
said. "To the very aged must
come a divination? Don't you
think so?"
"What of her?"
"She tells me that now we
should fear Hido."
• That terrible word fear.
Word so incongruous here in
the little realm of the Marans
that one might grow from
childhood to maturity and
scarcely hear it uttered. Fear
Hido? How could they fear
Hido who for so long had done
the few simple tasks of gather-
ing the food from the lush
SATURN
fields/ serving it, and keeping
their 1 'dwelling in order? Hido
with his dwarfed, ugly little
body; ; his imp-grin and comical
gestures and jokes that always
made you laugh — why should
the dread word fear be invoked,
because of him?
"Mama Megan reminds me
that once he was a Hittag,"
Mara was saying.
So long ago, when still Jan's
mother and father were living
and Jan was very small, Hido
had come ; beaten and scourged
by the Hit tags, he had come
like a refugee to the Marans.
No Hittag had bothered to
chase him. No Hittag, busy,
restless with his civilized strug-
gle toward what he called
achievement, would ever both-
er with anything concerning the
little race of Marans off here
in the secluded hills. To the
great Hittags, the simple Ma-
rans were savaares. Unimpor-
tant in the restless Hittag
world.
Jan himself knew little of
them, but it was enough. Their
present ruler, him whom they
called HittagH, surely was a
madman, lashing them on, mad
with lust of power to lift him-
self and push down others who
might oppose him. Life for the
Hittags was a struggle always
to create complexities. A life
of fear. A life with violence and
bloodshed, and they called it
civilization's upward struggle!
To Jan, it was the reality of
savagery. Nature was benign
here in this world peopled only
by the Hittags and Marans.
Surely, there was nothing to
struggle against. Jan's father
,had once said a strange word,
and tried to explain what it
was. Sickness. A thing that
ended lives before their life-
span of time. It was not here.
Only age at last could kill. Or
sudden accident or violence.
For the simple Marans, acci-
dents was rare. Violence, the
Hittags created. But why?
Why?
Jan, now that he and Mara
had reached maturity so that
s"Don children would be coming,
knew that there was no answer
to that. He could only be
thankful that surely their
children would be spared such
struggle.
"Mama Megan wishes you
to come to her," Mara wa
saying.
"Come now?"
"Yes, that would be besL
Soon she will be sleeping."
JAN ROSE to his feet,
stretching his long, s'r ■
body. He was much taller than
Mara. Taller, really, than most
REQUIEM FOR A SMALL PLANET
of the Marans. A little differ-
ent, too. His eyes were blue,
like Mara's ; his blond hair was
cut shorter, but still it was
like hers. Yet about him there
was something very different.
A different cast of feature,
perhaps a sort of sternness, in-
congruous to his gentle nature.
He could remember that his
father had been the same, per-
haps even his mother also.
There was a mystery about
Jan. It used to trouble him a
little, when he was a question-
ing child. Now suddenly it was
troubling him again. Old
Mama Megan would know.
With her great age and wis-
dom, surely she would be able
to tell him. He thought now
that tonight he would ask her.
Pulling Mara by the hand,
Jan strode into the dwelling
room, where Hido was remov-
ing the evening food. The mis-
shapen dwarf, with his ugly
grinning face, pointed chin and
bulbous nose, set down his tray
and did a little mock dance,
waving his thick arms and jig-
ging so that his stone brace-
lets tinkled.
"Laugh," he said. "Who but
Hido shall always make you
laugh? Go hasten to your love-
couch, I wish you well."
"Hido, shush," Mara said.
"And life is merry and we
are wise to keep it so." He
was still jigging as he vanished
with his tray. '■
They found old Megan in
her wood-chair, quiescent with
the weight of great age. The
opal sheen form outside lay
spread on her thin wrinkled
face, as though it were a sort
of glory. Her hands were fold-
ed in her lap among the leaves
of her robe. She was so old
now that to Jan it seemed that
only her glowing eyes were
really alive. ; ■
She greeted them silently,
with one hand stirring into a
gesture so that they sat down
on the leaf-strewn floor: before
her, hand in hand like little
children who had been sum-
moned.
Then she said, "I have not
told you, but now I should. It
will be soon now that I am
gone from you."
"Mama Megan — ■" Mara
gave a little cry; Jan just si-
lently stared. It is the way of
life, but you can never quite
get use to it, the inevitable
passing of the old whom you
love. Mara's mother, and her
mother and hers, were here,
with no thought yet of dying.
Now Megan, oldest of them all,
had found her time drained
out. Jan realized it; so many
of the old- had tried to explain
70
SATURN
it. Nature tells you, with lit-
tle warning signals that you
cannot miss.
And now old Megan knew,
so that she had sent for them.
"Mama Mega n — " Jan
touched her hand with a ca-
ress, but she smiled gently.
"It is not for sorrow, the
ways of wise nature," Megan
said. "But there are things
now, I must tell you. Things
of the Maran Secret. I have
been its Custodian, you know."
They knew it, of course. The
Maran Secret. To all the young
it was a mysterious thing, a
thing you could not even be-
gin to understand. A legend. A
tradition. Yet everyone knew it
was very real. From out of the
dim past, down through the
generations unnumbered, some-
one always was the Custodian.
Near the end, warned by na-
ture that time had run out, al-
ways the Custodian must pass
it on to someone else, this
knowledge of the Maran Se-
cret.
"To us both, Mama Me-
gan?" Jan and Mara spoke to-
gether.
"Yes, I have decided. You
two, still so young yet being
as one, with your coming
children."
"Now?" They held their
breath.
"Yes. Perhaps you will be
surprised. There is nothing that
I can tell you save where it is."
"The Secret?" Her words
were puzzling. Always Jan had
thought it was something which
was to be explained. But now
old Megan was telling them it
was nothing of that. Merely it
was something that was hidden
here, with Megan's knowledge
only that she knew where it
was hidden.
"But what is it?" Jan mur-
mured.
Her grey, palsied head shook
with negation. "I do not know.
Through the ages, always it
has been here. They say it has
a container, indestructible by
time. It lies there, buried in the
ground."
She was telling them the
place. Not far from here, out
in the nearest little valley be-
tween the twin hills. Now they
were the Custodians and could
find it if need be.
"Find it if need be?" Jan
echoed. "If need be for what?
And you don't know what it is?
You talk riddles, Mama Me-
gan." .
She was still gently smiling.
"The new Custodians must
know what I know. I must tell
you now something of the his-
tory of the Marans. You have
not been taught it. Perhaps
REQUIEM FOR A SMALL PLANET
71
that is because we Marans feel
it is a little shameful. There
was once a time when the Ma-
rans here were struggling up-
ward, building a great civiliza-
tion."
"Like the Hittags," Mara
breathed. .
The smile on Megan's pallid
lips was ironic. "Yes. Like the
Hittags. The Hittags were
primitive then — just little rov-
ing tribes far away. The Ma-
rans were the Great Race.
They were learned in science.
They built great cities — vast,
complicated ways of living,
working very hard with frantic
urge to satisfy needs which
they created for themselves."
Megan's thin, shaking arm
gestured vaguely toward the
window oval where it shone
with • the opalescent distance
outside. "Their cities are out
there now, buried in the ruins
of time. And we, here, are all
that is left."
"But what happened?" Jan
demanded. "They got tired of
working? Tire«r of working, for
nothing at all?"
"Perhaps they reached the
peak that man is allowed to
go," Megan said. "I do not
know. I am not wise enough to
interpret the ways of God. I
know only that their science
at last tampered with nature
too freely. Some engine of
death which they had found
with which to murder each
other, at last turned against
them. There was the Great
Catastrophe. And then there
was nothing left but a world
in ruins, and little remnants of
struggling beings left in the
chaos."
"And that's — us?" Jan mur-
mured.
"Out of them, our world as
we have it here now, has
come," Megan said. "The span
of ten times my long life. But
these Marans who were left —
surely they had learned their
lesson." Her thin, quavering
old voice took on a sudden
warmth, almost as though in
talking of this, she were young
again. "A lesson learned from
the lash of an unthinkable hor-
ror. Those chastened Marans,
suddenly saw what fools their
forebears had been. And they
lived for the things that all
mankind really wants. So that
now, as you see and feel, we
are happy here."
"And now the Hittags are
doing it all over again." Mara
said.
"Yes. I suppose so."
"But Mama Megan," Jan
said. "You forget to tell us
about the Maran Secret."
It was something left from
72
SATURN
the great Maran civilization.
Something the pitiful survivors
found intact in the ruins. They
had a temptation to preserve
it, so that always to now, it
had been kept hidden here.
"To be used if need be,"
Jan said. "What did you mean
by that?"
Old Megan shook her head.
"Words that the Custodian be-
fore me passed down. Perhaps,
originally, one might have
thought he could have a need
to use the hidden thing, what-
ever it is. We cannot imagine
that — not now — because it is
a thing diabolic." ~
How different from what
Jan and Mara always had pic-
tured the Maran Secret to be!
Just a shuddering, unknown
thing, diabolic.
r\LD MEGAN'S eyesight
^was dim, her hearing
blurred. Jan and Mara had
their backs to the door oval;
they were intent, so. that the
little noise there behind them-
went unnoticed. Megan did
not see the moving shadow as
now it slid away.~
Megan was saying, "There
is no one in the world now —
perhaps even among the Hit-
tags save their madman ruler —
who would want our Secret.
But always I have remembered
that Hido is a Hittag. I want-
ed to tell you that — though
perhaps it means so little as
a warning that I do great in-
justice to the clowning fellow.
But they say now that HittagH
is desperate. There is someone
else there among them who
lusts for the Leadership."
Jan had heard of it. In his
mind there was a dim picture
of the boastful madman, lurk-
ing in his . tower — the Great
Leader, yet fearing everybody
and everything. His mind,
warped, twisted, bringing mad
fits of rage, so that alternately
he would order murder done,
and threaten suicide if ever his
power were successfully as-
sailed.
Suddenly Jan remembered
what he had wanted to ask her.
"Mama Megan," he said. "My
father and my mother — how is
it they were not very old, like
you, yet they passed and were
gone?"
Megan's face clouded. Her
eyes looked away. "They
died," she said.* "One quite
soon after the other. You were
very small."
"Yes, I know. I can remem-
ber them a little. Was it an
accident?"
"No."
"Violence?" A shudder was
within Jan.
REQUIEM FOR A SMALL PLANET
73
"Violence?" she echoed. "Oh
no. They were here. Right here
in this house. I was' with
them."
"Then — what?" he demand-
ed.
"They called it a meaning-
less word," she said. "A sick-
ness. Perhaps, like I feel now.
Jan, child, question me no
more. Your father told me lit-
tle. Almost nothing. What lit-
tle it was, I could not under-
stand."
"I am not just like the
Marans," Jan declared. "I
know it. There is something
different."
"Question me not. Your fa-
ther left you a message. You
have it written down."
"To be opened, only , if ever
great and terrible danger comes
to me," Jan said bitterly.
"Yes, I have it." He touched
his chest. "I have it always on
me, as you told me I must.
Yet never can I open it, of
course. For how can great and
terrible danger come to a Ma-
ran?" A little while ago he
could have said that sincerely.
Yet now, somehow, it sounded
empty, fatuous.
Old Megan was sagging in"
her chair, her little strength
drained from the talk. Mara
said, "Jan, we must go."
Then they left her. Present-
ly on their couch Jan lay with
Mara in his arms with the soft
warm redolence of the opales-
cent air caressing them. The
little shining pool outside their
window splashed with music to
lull them. Surely they felt old-
er. Not children now. The new
Custodians.
Jan was thinking of the mys-
tery of it. A thing diabolic, so
ironically to be treasured from
generation to generation just
because that was the tradition,
the -command of ancestors long
gone. He was thinking too of
the mystery of himself, the
message from his father that
he could not open. Never had
he wondered about it more
than now.
And he was thinking of his
love for Mara and hers for
him. And their coming child.
Surely they were very singu-
larly blessed ...
He knew that he had been
asleep. Mara, warm here in his
arms, was asleep. But some-
thing had awakened him.
Something horrible. Then he
knew it was a scream he had
heard, because now it was re-
peated — a scream, gurgling off
horribly into a moan. It
awakened Mara. She gasped in
fear, with her _ arms around
him.
"Jan!"
74
SATURN
"That was Megan! Surely
that was Megan 1 M
TN THAT MOMENT, as he
and the trembling Mara
flung on their leaf-robes, it
seemed that a bridge was
crossed by Jan., A great gulf
spanned. A transition, as
though from one world to an-'
other. For a brief interval he
stood dazed, trying to encom-
pass it. All his life, here among
the Marans, the thought of
violence was a distant thing.
Something apart. Something to
be contemplated abstractly as
happening somewhere to oth-
ers, but never to oneself. Yet
here now, embodied in that
scream, was the presage of vio-
lence. Something — someone—
forcing violence.
Perhaps Mara was feeling
the same. She clung to him.
She was gasping, "Megan — in
danger — " Then as he turned
and dashed through the dim
and silent cubby rooms, Mara
was running behind him.
Old Megan was not in her
chair. She was not on her
sleep-couch. She was lying on
the flooring. Dead? As they
bent over her, the blue-veined
waxen eyelids fluttered up.
She murmured,
"Hido came.. He must have
listened as I made you Custo-
dians — yet he — did not think
he had heard clearly enough."
That grinning, hideous
dwarf, trying to force more in-
formation from Megan, final-
ly had knocked her from her
couch. Her slow gasping voice
now was barely audible.
"Jan— other Hittags were
here. I saw them here lurking
in my corridor. If they — find
now the Maran Secret — if the
madman Leader gets it — our
little world is gone, Jan."
"Megan! Megan!" Mara
was bending down, sobbing.
She tri'ed to hold the old wom-
an's head in her warm arms.
* But Jan only stood mute,
with the turmoil of his thoughts
flooding him. Now Megan's
faint voice was saying, "Re-
member your father's message
— so that at least you and
Mara may save yourselves. I —
love you both — rny children-
good-bye — "
She lay so still. The waxen
shell of her lay still, and the
evanescent thing which was
Megan had fled away.
Violence. Megan had died by
violence. Unthinkable thing,
yet here it was. As he faced
it, groped with the reality of
it, unprecedented fury rose in
Jan. It blurred him, this coping
with a wild rush of new emo-
tions. Then he turned, shout-
REQUIEM FOR A SMALL PLANET
75
ed something at Mara. He
hardly knew what it was.
"Mara — wait — don't come!"
The opalescent dimness out-
side, the eternal glowing, shim-
mering twilight of the little
Maran realm, enveloped Jan
as he ran. And now he knew
that Mara was coming behind
him, running with flashing
pale limbs and her robe and
pale tresses fluttering behind
her.
The dim hills shone ahead of
him as he ran. for the little
valley between them. Then
suddenly a figure rose up from
a leafy copse in front of him.
Hido. The dwarf jumped. He
flung a rock, but Jan ducked
down and then was upon him.
It was a blur of horror, this
weird new thing that Jan knew
was the lust to kill. The gibber-
ing dwarf was hard with mus-
cle. Jan could feel it as they
rolled, pounding wildly at each
other. -Mara was standing with
a hand against her mouth, her
wide blue eyes staring at this
incredible scene of violence.
Now the dwarf had him
down, astride him, trying to
grip his throat. But the simple
work of the fields hardens one.
Jan too, had the strength and
the youth, so that now he had
heaved the heavy dwarf away
and leaped to his feet. And
plunged again. Jan knew that
this time his antagonist was
under him; Hido was scream-
ing from the blows in his ugly
face.
He was finished, but Jan
did not know it, nor care. How
could he know anything, save
that he was fighting something
which had to be killed? He was
oh his feet again. Incredibly
there was frenzied strength in
* him, enough to lift Hido up.
A great jagged rock, Jan's
height, was nearby; and now
he was jamming Hido against
it, pounding the dwarf's head
against the pointed rock. ,
"Jan! Jan!"
He hardly heard Mara's cry
of horror. The dead twisted
thing was at his feet, but once
more he picked it up, panting,
sweating as again he heaved
it headfirst to crash soddenly
against the rock. Incredible,
this lust. It was like a water-
maelstrom bursting loose in-
side him, a thing once surging
that was not to be checked.
"You — you — " His tongue
had no epithet, though weirdly
he wanted one.
He was hurling the limp
body, and picking it up and
heaving it again . . . then pound-
ing it with a rock held in his
hand until at last his strength
and breath gave out and he
76 SAT
dropped back beside it on the
ground, spent and trembling.
Violence. His first experi-
ence with violence. In that mo-
ment Jan knew he hated it,
would always hate it, with a
revulsion so terrible that it
made his gorge rise. The dim
opalescent scene swim dizzily
around him. He felt Mara's
shaking arms holding him.
Megan had said there were
other Hittags here. Jan was
Custodian. The thought made
him leap to his feet and he
drew Mara up with him. She
understood, of course, because
now again she was running be-
hind him, trying to keep with
him as he dashed into the glow-
ing little valley.
OE KNEW he was too late,
*■ ■* because far up there
ahead of him, shapes were flee-
ing. The Hittags. There was a
group of them. In that moment
they bounded away and were
gone in the twilight glow, lit-
tle dots vanishing in the dis-
tance beyond which the Hit-
tag city was a blotch in the
sky...
He paused to stare, and
Mara caught up with him.
"Jan, that was the Hittags?"
"Yes, I think so. They may
have gotten it."
Then at last he and Mara
were gazing blankly at the hid-
den rock which already had
been found and moved, reveal-
ing the hole down into which
he and Mara climbed to find
the hidden little place under-
ground. Evidence of strange
science was here. The forgot-
ten science of so long ago —
smooth and glistening polished
walls here underground; a lit-
tle metal casket here, of a
strange smooth substance im-
pervious^ to time. And the cas-
ket was open; its tiny mysteri-
ous contents was gone. . .
The new Custodians. Chil-
dren, really, so short a time
ago. Perhaps all the Marans —
so simple and trusting and
gentle a people now — were not
much more than children.
Even old Megan, mistrusting
Hido, yet had made Jan and
Mara Custodians in simple
fashion. Only those who livt
by violence, trained to it, wiK
think to guard in , advance
against a murderous enemy.
"Mara, what can we do?"
But Jan knew then that it-
was an irrevocable thing. She
was standing staring at him.
And because she was a girl
and more perhaps because she
was a woman whose child was
comings — and the horror of the
first violence she had ever
seen was flooding her — sud-
REQUIEM FOR A SMALL PLANET
77
denly now the color of life
faded from her face. She stood
staring at Jan, puzzled, be-
wildered by the feelings with-
in her. Perhaps she thought it
was death now rushing at her.
She gave a so ff little cry; her
hand went out as though to
clutch at him, and she wilted
down, lay at his feet.
To Jan, she was dead. Faint-
ing was something beyond his
experience or knowledge. He
crouched holding her in his
arms, his grief blurring him.
Mara and their child, both
gone. There was nothing here
with Jan but a great, drab void
of emptiness, with everything
which had been his life sud-
denly taken away.
Then he saw that she was
breathing. It brought hope.
"Mara! Oh, my Mara — "
So much time passed. He
could not guess how long he
sat there in the cold and dank
little vault with his dying one
in his arms. But death held
off. Now a little of the rose-
color was coming into her
cheeks and lips. She stirred.
Her eyes opened. She had
come back to him. She and
their child. The flooding thank-
fulness of it misted his vision,
choked his voice so that he
could only hold her with his
cheek against hers and his
fingers winding in her tossed,
pale hair.
It may have been the full
time that one would sleep while
he sat there, holding Mara, and
both of them wondering when
death would -come. But she was
strong with color now. Gradu-^
ally it came to them that she
would not die.
"The Hittags took the Ma-
ran Secret," she murmured.
"Oh, Jan, what shall we do?"
There was nothing they
could do. They left the vault
open as they had found it. The
little valley between the twin
peaks glowed around them as
they stood wondering what
they could do. To Jan then
came the presage that though
the valley looked the same,
certainly everything was dif-
ferent now with the Maran
Secret gone. A new era, just
beginning. An era of danger, of
horror ...
'T'HE VALLEY here was no
•*- longer the same. Always it
had been like everything here,
shimmering with quiet peace
and security. Now there were
voices Marans running here,
shouting, babbling with *the
new emotion of terror.
"Doomed. Death — death is
coming to us all!"
"The end of the world—"
78
SATURN
"Where shall we go — what
can we do?"
A little way down the valley,
as Jan and Mara too were run-
ning, they came upon an old
Maran sitting on a rock with
his hands dangling and on his
face the vacancy of bewilder-
ment. Jan seized him. "Tell
me—"
He stared. "My Meeta," he
mumbled. "I cannot find her. I
do not know where she is. I
tried to find her^-"
"They talk of doom and
death," Jan gasped. "The end
of the world!"
"Yes," the old Maran said.
"The Secret was stolen — have
you not heard that? Already
news has come to us from the
Hittag city. The Hittags them-
selves fleeing here — fools !
What fools, those men who
call themselves civilized."
Jan was shaking him.
"Doom?"
"Their madman leader has
the Secret. In his impregnable
tower he stands laughing at his
enemies because with the
Secret he is bringing the end of
the world, and he laughs and
jibes because he is a madman."
Now Jan and Mara were
running again, with the bab-
bling chaos of terror around
them. And others were telling
them — the horrible, diabolic
science with a madman using
it. . .
Suddenly in a little blue-
green glade with the tinkling
splash of a brook at their feet,
Jan remembered. He stopped
the aimless panic of their
flight.
"Jan, what is it?" Mara
gasped.
"That message my father
left me." He remembered it
now against the flesh of his
chest, under his leaf-robe. "He
said, if there were ever terri-
ble danger." Now Jan drew it
out. He sat down by the brook,
opening the small flat package
with the wondering, awed
Mara beside him.
"Jan, what is it? What does
he say?"
There were very many words
in his father's small, neat
script. For a long time Jan sat
reading, his face grim, his eyes
puzzled.
"Jan, what does he say?"
"So much that I cannot un
derstand."
A chance at least to save
just him and Mara — and their
child who was coming. That
much seemed clear. Now Jan
knew that his mother and fa-
ther, and he himself who had
not yet been born, had come
here from some strange and
distant place. Why of course!
REQUIEM FOR
A strange and distant place so
that they were not just like
the Marans. Here was the
chance for Jan and Mara to
return there. A haven... Jan
felt it so. An escape. . .
He tried to explain it to
Mara. "We must go ourselves
and our unborn child."
His whole world was here
by the brook, as he stood with
his arms around Mara. Every-
thing else was doomed by a
madman.
"There is enough, just for
us two "
There was a flat little- vial,
and as he opened it, tiny pel-
lets rolled out into the palm of
his hand.
"Now, Mara—"
"Oh, Jan, whatever you
say — " She was docile, trust-
ing because he gently smiled at
her, trying not to show his
fear.
T^HE PELLETS were sweet
to the taste. They bubbled
on the tongue and were gone.
Now Jan and Mara sat by the
brook, clutching at each other
with a vast and terrible dizzi-
ness sweeping them so that
they closed their eyes. But still
the world swam and swayed
with soundless clapping in their
heads. Perhaps it was yet an-
other form of dying?
SMALL PLANET 79
But then Jan opened his
eyes. The dizziness passed.
With an incredible. amazement,
even though his father's mes-
sage had warned and tried to
explain, Jan and Mara stared
at the strange scene around
them. It seemed all in motion.
Everything was dwindling. And
drawing closer. The nearby
blue-green trees were shrinking
down and coming nearer. The
little shining brook was nar-
rowing and already it was lap-
ping against them. Jan could
feel the movement under him.
But he knew, what the message
had said, it was his own body
which was moving. Growing
larger. He and Mara, swiftly
now and with steady accelera-
tion, growing gigantic so that
everything else seemed dwin-
dling into littleness . . .
Already the giant bodies of
the two of them were sprawled
over the ribbon of brook. . .
Jan staggered to his feet. To
him, Mara was the same, un-
changing.
"Quick now!" He tried to
smile at her again. "Don't be
frightened. I will lead us."
The letter had warned him
what to do. The trees here now
were down at their knees. The
walls of the shining valley were
shrinking, rushing forward.
For a moment the voices of the
80 . SATl
panic-stricken Marans and
Hittags were little squeaks
down among the tiny trees.
The valley walls came with a
soundless sliding rush. Then
one of' them was here at hand,
hardly waist high so that Jan
leaped up to what always be-
fore he had seen as a hilltop.
"I'll lift you, Mara. Quick."
Then he had drawn her up.
There was a moment when the
valley seemed just a little nar-
rowing rift in the ground be-
side them. A moment more and
it was a crack, so small that
when they staggered to their
feet again, hardly could they
notice it.
Now -a new vista of rocks
and distant mountains was
around them. Mountains that
shrank with ever increasing
speed, coming down, shifting
forward. The scene closing to-
gether, until again, monstrous
titans, they drew themselves
upward.
There was no sense of time.
Jan could tell nothing of that.
It seemed a journey endless.
Journey into largeness. He
| could envisage now that some-
] where down among the tiny
; cracks and crevices at his feet
j lay the infinitesimal space
which held the Maran and Hit-
tag world...
Now the scene here, dwin-
dling and closing together so
swiftly, was shining with a new
radiance. Long since, the shim-
mering opalescence of the lit-
tle world down there, had gone.
The boulders, crags, and clos-
ing, shrinking mountains, were
glittering with cold nakedness.
Rocks of many facets, prisma-
tic with light.
Overhead the sky was chang-
ing. It was a blur now; but in
the blur there seemed to be
light which was yellow. A blur
of it far off to one side.
^[OW A definite horizon
■*■ ^ seemed to have come
around them. As Jan and Mara
stood together, clutching at
each other with the glittering
ground shrinking under their
feet, Jan could see that the
tumbled landscape was all
down lower than their heads. It
spread out and stopped at an
abyss. The brink made a dis-
tant circle around them. Be-
yond it, there was the blur of
empty sky coming down. There
were shadows in the sky now.
High up, monstrous moving
shapes with the blur of yellow
light on them.
The shrinking circle of the
abyss came closer. And sudden-
ly Jan's .viewpoint changed so
that he saw himself and Mara
standing here gigantic. En-
REQUIEM FOR A SMALL PLANET
81
larging giants with a little cir-
cular spread of glittering rock
under them — a circle shrink-
ing until presently in a step he
reached its edge.
"Jump, Mara! Wait, I'll go
first."
He jumped, and it was less
than the-.height of his head.
Only waist high when he had
lifted Mara down and they
stood on a black undulating
plain. Beside them now the
white glitter of rock from
which they had jumped was a
little boulder. It shrank. A rock
as big as one's head. Then
smaller. . .
Mara gasped, shaking as she
clutched Jan. And all the world
now was a chaos because there
were immense titans who
seemed to be standing in the
far distance, back beyond the
edge of the black plain. Human
shapes looming far up, with
great spread of pink-white
faces. They moved, and there
was wind here.
_ Then a human hand came
slowly down toward them. A
hand far bigger than their
bodies. A voice, roaring from
high up overhead, said, "Care-
ful, Hal. Not too fast."
A strange language. But Jan
remembered. The message had
reminded him of the queer
language which "Kls father and
mother had ' taught him when
he was still a child. They said
it was the first language he
had ever spoken. They had
begged him never to forget it.
When they had died, he had
practiced it with Mara. Queer
words. His father had called
them English.
"Careful, Hal—"
Now the monstrous hand
had grasped them so that they
were cradled in it. With a rush
of wind they were off the black
plain and down on a wooden
ground, with the towering legs
of a giant stretching up over
their heads. But the giants
were dwindling. . .
Then at last the growth had
stopped, and Jan and Mara
with a group of grave-faced
men in size like themselves
around them, stood in a room.
Lights were overhead. Win-
dows were there, with strange-
ness that Jan remembered he
should call daylight outside
them. Strange things, strange
sounds out there.
TTIS FATHER'S MESSAGE
■"■ -"- had told him what to ex-
pect. This would be a room in
the Bureau of Standards, in a
place called Washington. His
new world. Strange new world
for him and Mara and their
child . . . _
82
SATURN
He stood holding Mara.
Someone said, "They seemed
to understand us."
"Yes," Jan said. "My father
taught me."
Now he saw that the black
plain was a smooth square of
marble, with a hooded light
over it. And in its center, a tiny
grain of crystal quartz which
held the world into which his
father and mother had gone,
when his scientist father had
discovered the strange drugs so
many years ago. Explorer into
smallness. His father and
mother had remained there and
guards night and day had
watched the tiny fragment of
quartz. . .
There was one scientist here
they called Hal Matheson — a
youngish, goggled fellow, thin-
faced with somber eyes. "My
father was here to see them
go," he said. "Then you would
be Blanchard's boy? Your
mother said, if you were a boy
you would be called Jan."
"I am Jan," he said. Then
he explained about Mara. "We
came," he said. "My father's
message told me to come, if
' terrible danger threatened — "
It was as though his words
were timed by fate. One of the
men cried out. As Jan turned
to gaze at the marble slab,
i there seemed a tiny aura of
something around the grain of
quartz. Premonitory aura, and
in that same split-second, there
was a tiny puff of light. The
grain was gone.
The end of a world. It was
as swift, as simple as that —
And as unimportant. Certainly
of no moment here in the vast-
ness of this other, teeming
world. . .
Save perhaps as a symbol. . ,
A presage. . .a warning. . .
Someone here in the room
laughed grimly. "Dissolution —
hah! That could happen to the
best of us — "
"Shut up, Hal! Don't be
ghoulish — "
As though with macabre
prophecy he had spoken at just
the right instant; the windows
brightened with a glare. Jan
and Mara Mt themselves fall-
ing, or knocked down. A white-
ness so blinding beat here at
the windows that they flung
their hands to their closed
eyes, yet still could not shut it
out. Then it was gone, but
there was a great clatter and
roaring and breaking glass and"
the room shuddering around
them and outside, a terrible,
distant, immense roaring of
horror...
Through the shattered win-
dow it seemed that Jan could
see a vast column of vapour
REQUIEM FOR A SMALL PLANET
83
surging upward. . .
The voices and the shouts
and running footsteps were a
bewildering chaos, so that Jan
could only crouch and hold
Mara with her questioning gaze
on him like a frightened
child...
The voices were shouting
such strange things. . .
"An H-bomb fell in Vir-
ginia — "
"Missed us and fell in Vir-
ginia — "
"It's war! War!"
"So what?" That ironic,
ghoulish laugh again. "You
knew if we waited, we'd get-the
first one, didn't you?"
War. . .War. . .The cries of
it were spreading every-
where. , .
And Jan crouched huddled,
holding Mara . . .
Violence . . . Violence . . . He
could think of nothing eJse.
The horror of man wanting to
create violence... Then he
was thinking of the blue-green
sward outside Mara's dwelling,
the tinkling splashing of the
shimmering pool a background
to Mara's music . . . Surely
things like that must be the
essence of what man really
wants ... If only he knew it . . .
Now Jan and Mara were
questioning each other with
gazes of mute bewilderment. It
seemed that their last haven
had gone.
THE END
THE STARS
ARE WAITING
by MARION ZIMMER BRADLEY
Everything was top secret except in India. There
everything was plain secret, with the top en-
tirely off.
fXN A CERTAIN street in to tell you even what street the
^ Washington, there is a cer- building is on. If I did, a cer-
tain building which makes the tain very secret division of the
Pentagon, by comparison, look FBI would be breathing down
like Open House. I'm not g°ing my neck, before you could say
84
THE STARS ARE WAITING
85
"Security." So; on this certain
street, in this certain building,
is a certain room, and I sleep
in that room.
My name is David Rohrer,
and I am an M. D. with certain
other qualifications. If you're
getting bored with these equiv-
ocations,, read on; I'll be spe-
cific enough in a minute or two.
It was on a Tuesday night in
1964; that's close enough to
the actual date. If you're curi-
ous, it was six months to the
day after India closed all her
frontiers. Of course, you didn't
read about that in the newspa-
pers, but if you were a tourist
or a missionary going to India,
you found out about it the hard
way.
As I say, on a Tuesday night
in 1964, about eleven-thirty,
the phone in my room suddenly
rang. I swore, sat up, grabbed
the thing and put it to my ear.
I knew it would be important;
there are no outside lines in the
building, except a specially
sealed off and scrambled wire
which goes to the White House,
and another one to a room on
the top floor of the Pentagon.
The room telephones are all in-
side communication, easier, and
more private, than a public ad-
dess system.
"Rohrer," I said curtly.
I recognized the voice that
answered. You would too;
you've heard it often enough,
telecast from the floor of the
Senate. "Get down here, Doc,
right away. Flanders is back!"
I didn't even waste time an-
swering. I dropped the phone
cradle, shoved feet into my
shoes, hauled on trousers over
my pajamas, grabbed my bag
and ran downstairs.
The Senator's room was on
the second floor. I could see
lights around the crack beneath
his door and heard muted
voices coming from inside. I
shoved the door open.
"It's the Doc!" someone said
as I pushed my way through
the crowd.
The Senator, in striped pa-
jamas that would have looked
better on a film star, was sit-
ting on the edge of the bed, and
a group of men whom even the
president wouldn't recognize
were gathered around. In the
bed which had obviously been
occupied, not long ago, by the
Senator, a man was lying.
He was fully clad — socks,
overcoat, but someone* had
pulled off his shoes, which were
filthy with mud. His head lolled
back on the pillow. • I could see
ait that distance that he wasn't
dead; his chest rose and fell
86
SATURN
heavily", and his breathing was
a stertorous noise in the room,
I pushed some of the police
aside and took up his lax hand.
"What happened here?
What's the matter?" I asked to
nobody in particular. I didn't
actually expect an answer, but
curiously enough I got it from
the Senator, of all people.
"Nothing. He just walked up
the front steps and in. Bagley,
in the hall, recognized him and
sent him up to my room. He
knocked — the regular code
knock — so I got up and let him
in, and he collapsed."
I glanced at his overcoat
while I felt the. thumping pulse.
"He's bone-dry. It's pouring
rain outdoors. Even if he came
in a cab, how did he get here
without so much as his hair get-
ting wet?"
"That's what I'd like to
know," one of the men growled.
"There's something funny
going on..." someone mur-
mured,
"Damned funny.'* I let the
man's hand drop and opened
my bag.
A FTER A brief examination,
I straightened up. "There
isn't a wound anywhere on him.
Not even a bump or concusion
on his head. Either he's fainted
from shock — which, judging
from his pulse and heartbeat,
seems unlikely, or at least a
typical — or he's doped. And I
don't know of any drug that
would do that." I pushed up his
eyelid. The eye seemed normal,
the pupils neither dilated nor
contracted.
As I frowned in puzzlement,
the man's eyes suddenly
opened. He stared around ra-
tionally for a moment, and his
eyes came to rest on me. I
asked quietly, "How do you
feel now?"
"I— don't know."
"Do you know where you
are?"
"Certainly." He seemed to
make an attempt to sit up;
gave it up.
"What is your name?" I
asked him quietly.
"Julian Flanders." He
smiled, and added, "Of course."
The Senator interceded with
a question, "How did you get
here without getting wet?"
A faint look of distress came
over his face.
"I don't know."
Another man, who was in at
least temporary authority, put
in, "When did you leave India,
Flanders?"
• "I don't know,"
"Amnesia"/' I said low-toned,
THE STARS ARE WAITING
87
"partial aphasia."
The man in authority
grabbed my arm. "Rohrer, lis-
ten! Can you bring him out of
it? You've got to bring him out
of it!"
I answered, "I don't know.
Certainly not now. The man's
in no condition — "
"He's got to be in condi-
tion."
I said with some sternn'-s,
"His heartbeat is so far above
normal that it's dangerous even
to try to make him talk. I'm
going to give him a sedative,"
bending over my bag, I began
to load a hypodermic, "and he
must rest in quiet for some
hours. After that, perhaps we
can question him. He may, of
course, come out of it with
memory completely restored, if
his heart doesn't fail."
I gave the injection. Flan-
ders' heavy breathing gradually
stilled a little; the heartbeat di-
minished infinitesimally, but
went on thud-thudding at a
dangerous rate.
A doctor has privileges. I
managed to clear everybody out
of the room except the top man
of the secret police, and told
the Senator to go upstairs and
climb into my bed; I'd stay
with Flanders. Eventually, the
building quieted down. To
make a long story short, I sat
by Flanders, smoking and
thinking, until dawn. He slept,
breathing heavily, without
moving even a finger or -foot,
until morning. I knew how odd
that in itself was; a normal
sleeper, 'even the one who vows
that he sleeps like a log, turns
over some eighteen times in a
normal night. Flanders did not
stir. It would have been like
watching a corpse, except for
the rasping breaths, and the
steady thump-thump of his
heart when I bent and put a
stethoscope to his chest.
It would be both foolish and
futile to write down the events
of the next few days. Important
faces came and went, on Wed-
11 - day, Thursday, Friday. I
ha. I to report; No Change.
Flanders woke now and then.
He knew his name, answered
ordinary questions, about his
early life, r e c o g n i z e d his
wife when a plainclothesman
brought her. secretly into the
building, asked about his chil-
dren. But whenever anyone
asked a question about any-
thing which had happened since
the day he had left this house
with a secret pass which would
smuggle him into India, the an-
swer was always the same; the
look of acu-'.e ("-' • the,
88
SATURN
quickened breathing, and the
muttered, disturbed "I— don't
know — "
On Saturday morning, the
Senator called me out of the
room. "The Chief wants to see
you downstairs, Rohrer," he
told me, and I scowled. "I can't
leave my patient — "
The Senator looked disgust-
ed. "You know as well as I
do, there won't be any reason
you'd have to stay. I'll baby-
sit with him myself." He gave
me~a little shove, "Go on, Doc,
I think this is important."
TPHE CONFERENCE room
downstairs was so elabor-
ately soundproofed that it
might have been on the moon.
There were good reasons for
that, of course. But it always
made me nervous.
Secrets have been told in that
room for which twenty govern-
ments would give anything
shoVt of their plutonium stock-
piles. After I came in, a guard,
at the door went through a
careful ritual of locking it
again, and I turned to look
around the table.
Some of the men I knew by
name. Others I knew by repu-
tation or because their faces
were familiar to the newspa-
pers. The man at the head of
the table, who seemed to be in
charge, was one of the top men
in the FBI, and it was he who
spoke first. "•'
"Sit down, Dr. Rohrer," he
said courteously, "Can you tell
us anything about Mr. Flan-
ders?"
I took a seat and told them
briefly what I knew of the case.
I was perfectly candid about
admitting that the circum-
stances baffled me. When I had
finished, the Chief cleared his
throat and looked around the
table. "I just wanted to add,"
he put in unobtrusively, "that
there is no use in suggesting
that we summon other medical j
advice." He coughed, "Dr. J
Rohrer is probably better qual- j
ified than any man presently
in the United States, and every-
one at this table will realize the
impossibility of calling in any-
one from outside."
He looked back at me, "Is
there any chance of restoring
Mr. Flanders' memory and his
ability to speak within a few
days?" he asked me bluntly, "I
may as well add now, Doctor,
that for these purposes we must
consider Flanders as expend-
able. Provided that you can re-
store his memory and powers
of speech in time to avert what
we believe will be a major mili-
THE STARS ARE WAITING
89
tary catastrophe, you need not
worry about the eventual con-
sequences in the terms of Flan-
ders' health."
I didn't like that. No medical
man would. At the same time,
I realized that the Chief meant
exactly what he said. The cold
war whieh America has been
fighting, on and off, for the
past twenty-two years, was in
a stage of minor retrenchment.
Our. soldiers were not wearing
uniforms and carrying bazoo-
kas and badger- jets; they were
dodging, like Flanders, in and
out of the nets of intrigue.
Flanders was not a private in
this hierarchy of strategy; in
fact, he probably ranked as a
brigadier general had there
been any way to evaluate
worth. I knew, then, how des-
perate the situation must be.
I told them slowly, "We can
try narcosynthsis, hypnosis^
electric shock if that fails. I
must warn you, however, that
Flanders' heart may fail at any
moment."
"It mustn't!" one man
barked, "Not until we know
what happened!" He stood up
and pounded on the table with
something which could have
mere irritation or actual hyster-
ia, "Chief, can't you tell Roh-
rer why we have to wring out
what's inside Flanders' head
before he conks out?"
The man at the head of the
table turned toward him and
spoke placatingly, "Of course,
I have already said that Dr.
Rohrer is to be trusted implic-
itly."
There were a few minutes of
silence; then the Chief began
to talk.
T HAD KNOWN, of course,
when India closed her fron-
tiers. In this certain house in
Washington that kind of news
comes in as a matter of course,
although not a whisper of it
gets into the papers or even
reaches the Pentagon. I had
not known that India's first
move had been to cancel all her
munitions orders.
I learned it now for the first
time. Nearly eight months ago,
India had quite suddenly can-
celled all orders outstanding, in
England and in the United
States, for munitions, arma-
ments and the flood of war sup-
plies which the United States
has poured out in the name of
a prepared Free World united
against a sudden move from the
other side of the Steel Curtain.
With the exception of a sudden
recession in the Wall Street
tickers, this had had little ef-
90 SATL
feet on the world. One of the
Indian representatives in the
United Nations had made one
of the perennial Disarmament
Speeches which come from In-
dia. This resolution had been
shouted down without a vote.
Then India had just quietly
closed her frontiers.
Americans, Englishmen, all
foreign citizens, were asked
politely to leave the country.
At first, we had been fearful
that this heralded a sudden
shifting of the Indian influence
to the Russo-Chinese coalition;
however, angry radio messages
filtering out, announced that
Russian, Chinese and Korean
nationals had been expelled
even less politely from India.
Then the news blackout had
begun.
India did not withdraw from
, the U. N., although all out-
standing Indian troops were
withdrawn from the- world's
various fronts. To angry ques-
tions, Hindu and Moslem dip-
lomats returned equivocal an-
swers; they had decided that
disarmament was the only way
to world peace. Naturally, for
the sake of morale, this had
been kept out of the newpa-
pers; fake speeches and photo-
graphs were concocted to keep
any hint of the true situation
form filtering down to the rest-
less public. Planes which
crossed the frontier into India
were challenged and turned
back, without violence but with
unquestionable menace. The
sea harbors were closed, and
from the north came word that
the northern entrances to In-
dia had all been closed by dy-
namiting the rocky and treach-
erous passes of the Himalayas.
To all intents and purposes,
India had simply seceded from
the planet Earth.
It was apparent to any poli-
tician, the Chief continued,
what really had happened. In-
dia had simply discovered some
great secret weapon and was
working for world domination
in one great master stroke. If
the brainless fools in the U. N.
had any sense, he continued,
they would have made terms
with Russia, to unite and wipe
out this menace to Free World
and Russo-Chinese coalition
both. India, he ranted on, was
obviously a traitor to the Free
World, and must suffer a trai-
tor's punishment. He glowered
around the table and went on in
a little more muted mutter;
public opinion still had a few
fools who kept contending, in
loud-mouthed idiocy, that In-
dia had simply been seized by
THE STARS ARE WAITING
91
some sort of Hindu revival of
non-violence and Neo-Gandhi-
ism, and was actually disarm-
ing behind its curtain of si-
lence. And while we were stall-
ing, he shouted, Norway had
suddenly cut off all munitions
orders. Her frontiers would be
closed any day, and already the
slump in the armament indus-
tries was threatening a serious
world depression !
After a ferocious scowl, he
continued, directly at me, not
orating now but talking like a
badly scared man, "So you can
understand, perhaps, Doctor,
why we have to know what has
happened to Flanders. We sent
him secretly to India to find
out what's really been happen-
ing. He managed to radio back
a code message that he was on
the trail, only a week ago Mon-
day. This is Sunday. They tell
me that he turned up on the
steps here Tuesday night.
You've got to find out what
Flanders knows about what's
been happening in India!"
He rose in dismissal. I sat
still, staring in dismay. I hadn't
believed that anything like this
was possible!
I said hoarsely, "I'll do my
best, Chiefs
T TRIED everything I dared.
There wouldn't- be much
point in detailing the things we
tried, because the details
wouldn't mean much to a lay-
man, and besides, most of them
are still marked Classified.
Things like that may not mean
much now, but I want to stay
on the outside of the Federal
prison until the day comes.
Anyhow, eventually, on a
Tuesday night — another rainy
Tuesday, almost exactly a
month after the night when
Flanders appeared in dry cloth-
ing and muddy shoes in the
Senator's bedoom, I knew that
he was going to talk, I signalled
to the Chief and the Senator,
who had been present at all
tests, to switch on a dictaphone.
There might not be time for
much questioning, and there
certainly was no margin for re-
covering ground which Flan-
ders might go over sketchily.
We'd have to get it down, word
for word, just as he said it,
while his strength lasted.
The dictaphone began to
hum. I gave Flanders the shot,
and asked him a few prelimi-
nary test questions. Almost ab-
ruptly, his stertorous breath-
ing stopped; he began to
breathe normally and quietly,
although the pounding heart-
beat continued, on and on, a
thunder in my stethoscope. He
92
SATURN
Wouldn't last long under this
dosage. But he'd remember,
and we might be able to get
his story down.
He began to talk. . . .
TPHE ROOM was silent.
■■■ There was only the hea^-y
pounding in the stethoscopes
and the occasional rasp as one
of the listeners shifted his
weight. Flanders was a tall,
lean man, normally, and he had
lost so much weight that he re-
sembled a skeleton. His face
was. a death-mask molded in
yellow wax, and his lips barely
moved while his voice was a
racking whisper in the still-
ness.
"Chief — Senator — Doc, I've
got something to say — don't in-
terrupt me — important I say it.
I won't last long. I'm a — kind
of booby-trap. A puzzle. They
sent me back — a locked puz-
zle — if you could unlock me,
then you're fit to have the an-
swer. Sort of a final test."
The whisper receded for a
moment, and he took up the
story as if there had been no
interval, "... .went to India,
like I was sent, and found out
where they kept the govern-
ment now. Chief, there isn't
any government any more. Just
a lot of happy people. No gov-
ernment. No famine. Bright
colors . . . food you never tasted,
and the ships that come and go .
every day . . . ships — "
I thought he was delirious,
and felt for his pulse. He jerked
his hand away in irritation, and
I said gently, "What ships,
Flanders? All the sea harbors
are closed."
And the man smiled, a curi-
ously sweet smile, and mur-
mured, "Not those harbors. I
mean the ships from the stars."
The Senator muttered, "He's .
mad as a Hatter!"
"No, Doc, Chief— listen,"
Flanders' broken whisper went
on, "I seen them. Big ships,
whooshing down in the plains.
Big spaceport — north of Delhi.
I saw one of the men from the
stars. I'm a — " he paused and
sighed wearily, "God, I'm
tired— I'm a volunteer, la-
asked me if I felt like dying to
bring the message back. He
said I couldn't go out and 1 ; -o,
because if they didn't beli vi"
me— I mean if you folks didn't
believe me — then they couldn't
have anybody spreading stories
Can I give you the message?
Will you make a record of it' .
Then I can — quit — and I'm *«j
tired—" /
The Chief started to rise. Im j
peratively, with the author iif
THE STARS ARE WAITING
93
of a medical man, I gestured
him sharply back. "Sit still!"
I said bumoringly to Flanders,
"Tell us. We've got a dicta-
phone."
He muttered in that terrible
racked whisper, "Show me —
got to see it — -hooked up — my
own words—"
Over the Chief's angry ges-
ture, I showed Flanders the
dictaphone.
He leaned back on his pil-
lows, smiling. I have never seen
a happier smile on the face of
a child. He stirred a little and
put out his hand, and incredibly
I felt the terrible racked heart-
beats slowing and easing. And
abruptly the emaciated body
heaved itself upright, and Flan-
ders suddenly spoke in a new,
a strong and sharp voice.
"Men of America, of the
planet which you call Earth,"
he said strongly, "This man
Flanders is a volunteer whom
we are using to bring you our
message. And this is what we
have to say. The stars are wait-
ing for you. The stars are wait-
ing."
A moment's pause* then that
iarp, strong inflexible voice
ontinued, "A hundred thou-
nd years ago, men's ances-
•ii s lived on this world and
i te a part of the great empire
which stretches from m to
sun and has so stretch ice
before your planet was n un
out of the womb of your little
yellow star. Great catacylsms
of nature wrecked your planet.
Many were evacuated, but
many chose to stay with their
home world, with the floods,
the sunken continents the del-
uges and tidal waves. For this
they paid a price. They revert-
ed to savagery. And savages
know no space."
Another, long, quiet pause,
while the Senator said in the
sharp stillness, "Impossible!
This is—"
"Shut up!" the chief
snapped, for Flanders, or rath-
er, the curiously alien voice
through Flanders, was speaking
again.
"...assume that you have
reclimbed most of the distance
from savagery, and the stars
are waiting for you. We have
been watching. We are ready
to reclaim your world. We
make only one condition; there
is no war in space. We insist
upon trust and sufferance. We
insist. We do not show our-
selves until we know that you
are ready.
"Whatever country will tot-
ally remove and destroy all
weapons of disaster, whatever
94
SATURN
country will close off their
frontiers and withdraw com-
pletely from a world torn by
war, that nation and that peo-
ple will be received into the
Commonwealth of the Stars.
It is so with the state you call
India. It is so with ' the state ,
you call Norway, which today
has closed its frontiers.
"The invitation is extended
equally to all. Lay down your
arms. You will be protected in
ways you cannot even imagine.
You need not fear that your
enemies on this Earth will be
pemitted to harm you, for they,
and not you, are the truly iso-
lated.
"Display your trust and your
will to nonagression. Disarm
yourselves. Lay down your
arms. The stars are waiting."
The voice trailed off, was si-
lent. The thunder in the stetho-
scopes began again. Flanders
slumped; the rattling breath,
tortured, tore through the
room, stopped.
I let my hand drop from his
wrist.
"He's dead, sir," I said.
Before the words were out of
my mouth, the Senator was
clawing at the telephone.
"Get me the President!"
THE END
ALAREE
by ROBERT SILVERBERG
The. ways of star folk are strange and varied,
but none so odd as those of that Earth space-
ship's latest crew member.
WfHEN OUR SHIP left its
carefully planned trajec-
tory and started to wobble
through space in dizzy circles,
I knew we shouldn't have
passed up that opportunity for
an overhauling on Spica IV.
My men and I were anxious to
get back to Earth, and a hasty
check had assured us that the
Aaron Burr was in tip-top
shape — so we had turned down
the offer of an overhaul, which
would have meant a month's
delay, and set out straight for
home.
As so often happen?, what
seemed like the most direct
route home turned out to be
the longest. We had spent far
too much time on this survey
trip already, and were rejoic-
ing in the prospect of ar imme-
diate return to Earth waen the
ship started turning carVheels.
W i 1 1 e n d,o r f, computer -
95
96
SATURN
man first class, came to me
looking sheepish, a few minutes
after I'd noticed we were off
course.
"What is it, Gus?" I asked.
"The feed network's oscillat-
ing, sir," he said, tugging at his
unruly reddish-brown beard.
"It won't stop, sir."
"Is Ketteridge working on
it?"
'Tve just called him," Will-
endorf said. His stolid face re-
flected acute embarrassment.
Willendorf always took it per-
sonally whenever one of the
cybers went haywire, as if it
were his own fault. "You know
what this means, don't you,
sir?"
I grinned. "Take a look at
this, Willendorf," I said,
shoving the trajectory graphs
toward him. I sketched out
with my stylus the confused
circles we had been travelling
in all morning. "That's what
your feed network's doing to
us," I said. "And we'll keep on
doing it until we get it fixed."
"What are you going to do,
sir?"
I sensed his impatience with
me. Willendorf was a good
man, but his psych charts in-
dicated a latent desire for
officerhood. Deep down inside,
he was sure he was at least as
competent as I was to run this
ship, and probably a good deal
more so.
"Send me Upper Navigating
Technician Haley," I snapped.
"We're going to have to find
a planet in the neighborhood
and put down for repairs."
TT TURNED OUT there was
an insignificant solar system
in the vicinity, consisting of a
small but hot white star and a
single unexplored planet, Ter-
ra-size, a few hundred million
miles out. After Haley and I
had decided that that was the
nearest port of refuge, I called
-a general meeting.
Quickly and positively I out-
lined our situation and ex-
plained what would have to-be
done. I sensed the immediate
disappointment, but, gratify-
ingly, the reaction was followed
by a general feeling of resigned
pitching-in. If we all worked,
we'd get back to Earth sooner
or later. If we didn't, we'd
spend the next century flip-
flopping aimlessly through
space.
After the meeting, we set
about the business of recover-
ing control of the ship and put-
ting it down for repairs. The!
feed network, luckily, gave up
the ghost about ninety minutes
later; it meant we had to stoke
the fuel by hand, but at leas
ALAREE
97
it stopped that damned oscil-
lating.
We got the ship going. Ha-
ley, navigating by feel in a way
I never would have dreamed
possible, brought us into the
nearby solar system in hardly
any time at all. Finally we
swung into our landing orbit,
and made our looping way
down to the surface of the lit-
tle planet.
I studied my crew's faces
carefully. We had spent a
great deal of time together in
space — much too much, really,
for comfort — and an incident
like this might very well snap
them all if we didn't get going
again soon enough. I could
foresee disagreements, bicker-
ing, declaration of opinion
where no opinion was called
for.
I was relieved to discover
that the planet's air was
breathable. A rather high nitro-
gen concentration, to be sure
—82% but that left 17% for
oxygen, plus some miscellane-
ous inerts, and it wouldn't be
too rough on the lungs. I de-
creed a one-hour free break be-
fore beginning repairs.
Remaining aboard ship, I
gloomily surveyed the scram-
bled feed network and tried to
formulate a preliminary plan
of action for getting the com-
plex cybernetic instrument to
function again, while my crew
went outside to relax.
Ten minutes after I had
opened the lock and let them
out, I heard someone clanking
around in the aft supplies
cabin.
"Who's there?" I yelled.
"Me," grunted a heavy voice
that could only be Willendorf's.
"I'm looking for the thought-
converter, sir."
I ran hastily through the
corridor, flipped up the latch
on the supplies cabin, and con-
fronted him. "What do you
want the converter for?" I
snapped.
"Found an alien, sir," he
said laconically.
My eyes widened. The sur-
vey chart had said nothing
about intelligent extra-terres-
trials in this limb of the galaxy,
but then again this planet
hadn't been explored yet.
I gestured toward the rear
cabinet. "The converter hel-
mets are in there," I said. "I'll
be out in a little while. Make
sure you follow technique in
making contact."
"Of course, sir," said Will-
endorf. He took the converter
helmet and went out, leaving
me standing there. I waited a
few minutes, then climbed the
catwalk to the airlock and
n SATI
peered out.
They : were all clustered
around a small alien being,
who looked weak and inconse-
quential in the midst of the
circle. I smiled at the sigh t.
The alien was roughly human-
oid in s h a p e, with the usual
complement of arms and legs,
and a pale green complexion
that blended well with the
muted violet coloring of his
world. He was wearing the
thought-converter somewhat
lopsidedly, and I saw a small,
green, furry ear protruding
from the left side. Willendorf
was talking to him.
Then someone saw me
standing at the open airlock ;
and I heard Haley yell to me,
"Come on down, Chief!"
TTHEY WERE ringed
around the alien in a tight
circle. I shouldered my way
into their midst, Willendorf
turned to me.
"Meet Alaree-, sir," he said.
"Alaree, this is our comman-
der."
"We are pleased to meet
you," the alien said gravely.
The converter automatically
turned his thoughts into Eng-
lish, but maintained the trace
of his oddly-infected accent.
"You have been saying that
you are from the skies."
"His grammar's pretty sha-
ky," Willendorf interposed.
"He keeps referring to any of
us as 'you' — even you, who
just got here."
"Odd," I said. "The con-
verter's supposed to conform
to the rules of grammar." I
turned to the alien, who
seemed perfectly at ease
among us. "My name is Bry-
son," I said. "This is Willen-
dorfj. over here."
The alien wrinkled his soft-
skinned forehead in mo-
mentary confusion. "We are
Alaree," he said again.
"We? You and who else?"
"We and we else," Alaree
said blandly. I stared at him
for a moment, then gave up.
The complexities of an alien
mind are often too much for a
mere Terran to fathom.
"You are welcome to our
world," Alaree said after a few
moments of silence.
"Thanks," I said. "Thanks."
I turned away, leaving the
alien with my men. They had
twenty-six minutes left of the
break I'd given them, after
which we would have to get
back to the serious business of
repairing the ship. Making
friends with floppy-eared ali-
ens was one thing; getting
back to Earth was another.
The planet was a warm,
friendly sort of place, with
ALAREE
99
rolling fields and acres of
pleasant-looking purple vege-
tation. We had landed in a
clearing at the edge of a fair-
sized copse. Great broad-
beamed trees shot up all
around us.
Alaree returned to visit us
every day, until he became al-
most a mascot of the crew. I
liked the little alien myself,
and spent some time with him,
though I found his conversa-
tion generally incomprehensi-
ble. No doubt he had the same
trouble with us. The converter
had only limited efficiency, af-
ter all.
He was the only representa-
tive of his species who came.
For all we kne w, he was the
only one of his kind on the
whole planet. There was no
sign of life elsewhere. Though
Willendorf led an unauthor-
ized scouting party during
some free time on the third
day, he failed to find a village
of any sort. Where Alaree re-
turned to every night and how
he had f o n n d us in the first
place remained mysteries.
As for the feed network,
progress went slowly. Ketter-
idge, the technician in charge,
had tracked down the foulup
and was trying to repair it
without buiMing a completely
new network. Shortcuts, again.
He tinkered away for four
days, setting up a tentative
circuit, trying it out, watching
it sputter and blow out, build-
ing another.
There was nothing I could
do. But I sensed tension
heightening among the crew-
men. They were annoyed at
themselves, at each other, at
me, at everything.
On the fifth day, Kittfedge
and Willendorf finally let
their accumulated tenseness
explode. They had been work-
ing together on the network,
but thay quarrelled and Ket-
teridge came storming into my
cabin immediately afterward.
"Sir, I demand to be allowed
to work on the network by my-
self. It's my specialty, and
Willendorf 's only screwing
things up."
"Get me Willendorf," t said,
frowning.
When Willendorf showed up
I heard the whole story, decid-
ed quickly to let Ketteridge
have his way — it was, after all,
his specialt y — and calmed
Willendorf down. Then, reach-
ing casually for some papers on
my desk, I dismissed both of
them. I knew they'd come to
their senses in a day or so.
T SPENT most of the next
•*-day sitting placidly in the
100
SATURN
sun, while Ketteridge tinkered
with the feed network some
more. I watched the faces of
the men. They were starting to
smoulder. They wanted to get
home and they weren't getting
there. Besides, this was a fair-
ly dull planet, and even the
novelty of Alaree wore off af-
ter a while. The little alien had
a way of hanging around men
who were busy scraping fuel
deposits out of the jet tubes, or
something equally unpleasant,
and bothering them with all
sorts of questions.
The following morning I was
lying blissfully in the grassplot
near the ship, talking to Ala-
ree. Ketteridge came to me. By
the tightness of his lips I knew
he was in trouble.
I brushed some antlike blue
insects off my trousers and
rose to a sitting position, lean-
ing against the tall, tough-
barked tree behind me.
"What's the matter, Ketter-
idge? How's the feed net-
work?"
He glanced uneasily at Ala-
ree for a moment before speak-
ing. "I'm stuck, sir. I'll have
to admit I was wrong. I can't
fix it by myself."
I stood up and put my hand
on his shoulder, "That's a no-
ble thing to say, Ketteridge. It
takes a big man to admit he's
been a fool. Will you work
with Willendorf now?"
"If he'll work with me, sir,"
Ketteridge said miserably.
"I think he will," I said.
Ketteridge saluted and turned
away, and I felt a burst of sat-
isfaction. I'd met the crisis in
the only way possible; if I had
ordered them to cooperate, I
would have gotten noplace.
The psychological situation no
longer allowed for unbending
military discipline.
After Ketteridge had gone,
Alaree, who had been silent all
this time, looked up at me in
puzzlement. "We do not under-
stand," he said.
"Not we," I corrected. '7.
You're only one person. We
means many people."
"We are only one person?"
Alaree said tentatively.
"No. / am only one person.
Get it?"
He worried the thought
around for a few moments; I
could see his browless forehead
contract in deep concentration.
"Look," I said. "I'm one
person^ Ketteridge is anothec
person. Willendorf is another.
Each one of them is an inde-
pendent individual, an T."
"And together you make
We?" Alaree asked brightly.
"Yes and no," I said. "We is
composed of many/, but we
ALAREE
101
still remain
Again he sank deep in con-
centration; then he smiled,
scratched the ear that protrud-
ed from one side of the
thought-helmet, and said, "We
do not understand. But / do.
Each of you is — is an
"An individual," I said.
"An "individual," he repeat-
ed. "A complete person. And
together, to fly your ship, you
must become a We."
"But only temporarily," I
said. "There still can be con-
flict between the parts. That's
necessary, for progress. I can
alway think of the rest of them
as They."
"I — They," Alaree repeat-
ed slowly. "They." He nodded.
"It is difficult for me to grasp
all this. I . . . think differently.
But I am coming to under-
stand, and I am worried." .
That was a new idea. Ala-
ree, worried? Could be, I re-
flected. I had no way of know-
ing. I knew so cursed little
about Alaree — where on the
planet he came from, what his
tribal life was like, what sort
of civilization he had, were all
blanks.
"What kind of worries, Ala-
ree?"
"You would not under-
stand," he said solemnly and
would say no more.
'"p O W A R D afternoon, as
golden shadows started to
slant through the closely
packed trees, I returned to the
ship. Willendorf and Ketter-
idge were aft, working over
the feed network. The whole
crew had gathered around to
watch and offer suggestions.
Even Alaree was there, looking
absurdly comical in his copper
alloy thought-converter helmet,
standing on tiptoe and trying
to see what was happening.
About an hour later, I spot-
ted the alien sitting by himself
beneath the long-limbed tree
that towered over the ship. He
was lost in thought. Evidently
whatever his problem was, it
was really eating him
Toward evening, he made a
decision. I had been watching
him with a great deal of con-
cern, wondering what was go-
ing on in that small but unfath-
omable mind. I saw him
brighten, leap up suddenly, and
cross the field, heading in my
direction.
"Captain!"
"What is it, Alaree?"
He waddled up and stared
gravely at me. "Your ship will
be ready to leave soon. What
was wrong is nearly right
again."
He paused, obviously uncer-
tain of how to phrase his next
102
SATURN
statement, and I waited pa-
tiently. Finally he blurted out
suddenly, "May I come back
to your world with you?"
Automatically, the regula-
tions flashed through my mind.
I pride myself on my knowl-
edge of the rules. And I knew
this one.
ARTICLE 101 A
No intelligent extra-ter-
restrial life is to be trans-
ported from its own world
to any civilized world un-
der any reason whatso-
ever, without explicit be-
forehand clearance. The
penalty for doing so is —
And it listed a fine of more
credits than was ever dreamt
of in my philosophy.
I shook my head. "Can't
take you, Alaree. This is your
world and you belong here."
A ripple of agony ran over
his face. Suddenly he ceased
to be the cheerful, roly-poly
creature it was so impossible to
take seriously, and became a
very worried entity indeed.
"You cannot understand," he
said. "I no longer belong here."
No matter how hard he
pleaded, I remained adamant.
When to no one's surprise
Ketteridge and Willendorf an-
nounced, a day later, that their
pooled labors had succeeded in
repairing the feed network, I
had to tell Alaree that we were
going to leave without him.
He nodded stiffly, accepting
the fact, and without a word
stalked tragically away, into
.the purple tangle of foliage
that surrounded our clearing.
He returned a while later or
so I thought. He was not wear-
ing the thought-c onverter.
That surprised me. Alaree
knew the helmet was a valuable
item, and he had been cau-
tioned to take good care of it.
I sent a man inside to get
another helmet for him. I put
it on him — this time tucking
that wayward ear underneath
properly — and looked at him
sternly. "Where's the other
helmet, Alaree?"
"We do not have it," he
said.
'We? No more I?"
"We," Alaree said. And as
he spoke, the leaves parted and
another alien — Alaree's very
double — stepped out into the
clearing.
Then I saw the helmet on
the newcomer's head, and real-
ized that he was no double. He
was Alaree, and the other alien
was the stranger!
"I see you're here already,"
the alien I knew as Alaree said
to the other. They were stand-
ALAREE
103
ing about ten feet apart, star-
ing coldly at each other. I
glanced at both of them quick-
ly. They might have been iden-
tical twins.
"We are here," the stranger
said. "We have come to get
you."
I took a step backward,
sensing that some incompre-
hensible drama was being
played out here among these
aliens. »
"What's going on, Alaree?"
I asked.
"We are having difficul-
ties," both of them said, as
one.
Both of them.
I turned to the second alien.
"What's your name?"
"Alaree," he said.
"Are you all named that?"
I demanded.
"We are Alaree," Alaree-
two said.
"They are Alaree," Alaree-
one said. "And J am Alaree.
/."
At that moment there was a
disturbance in the shrubbery,
and half a dozen more aliens
stepped through and confront-
ed Alarees one and two.
"We are Alaree," Alaree-
two repeated exasperatingly.
He made a sweeping gesture
that embraced all seven of the
aliens to my left, but pointed-
ly excluded Alaree-one at my
right.
"Are we-you coming with
we-us?" Alaree-two demanded.
I heard the six others say
something in approximately
the same tone of voice, but
since they weren't wearing
co" T erters their words were
oniy scrambled nonsense to
me.
Alaree-one looked at in
pain, then back at his seven
fellows. I saw an expression of
sheer terror in the small crea-
ture's eyes. He turned to me.
"I must go with them," he
said softly. He was quivering
with fear.
Without a further word, the
eight marched silently away. I
stood there, shaking my head
in bewilderment.
W/E WERE scheduled to
*^ leave the next day. I said
nothing to my . crew about the
bizarre incident of the evening
before, but noted in my log
that the native life of the plan-
et would require careful study
at some future time.
Blastoff was slated for 1100.
As the crew moved efficiently
through the ship, securing
things, packing, preparing for
departure, I sensed a general
feeling of jubilation. They
were happy to be on their way
104
SATURN
again and I didn't blame them.
About half an hour before
blastoff, Willendorf came to
me. "Sir, Alaree's down be-
low," he said. "He wants to
come up and see you. He looks
very troubled, sir."
I frowned. Probably the ali-
en still wanted to go back with
us. Well, it was cruel to deny
the request, but I wasn't going
to risk that fine. I intended to
make that clear to him.
"Send him up," I said.
A moment later Alaree came
stumbling into my cabin. Be-
fore he could speak I said, "I
told you before, I can't take
you off this planet, Alaree. I'm
sorry about it."
He looked up pitiably and
said, "You mustn't leave me!"
He was trembling uncontroll-
ably.
"What's wrong, Alaree?" I
asked.
He stared intensely at me
for a long moment, mastering
himself, trying to arrange what
he wanted to tell me into a co-
herent argument. Finally he
said, "They would not take me
back. I am alone."
"Who wouldn't take you
back, Alaree?"
"They. Last night, Alaree
came for me, to take me back.
They are a We — an entity— a
oneness. You cannot under-
stand. When they saw what I
had become, they cast me
out."
I shook my head dizzily.
"What do you mean?"
"You taught me — to be-
come an I" he said, moisten-
ing his lips. "Before, I was
part of We — They. I learned
your ways from you, and now
there is no room for me here.
They have cut me off. When
the final break comes, I will
not be able to stay on this
world."
Sweat was pouring down his
pale face and he was breath-
ing harder. "It will come any
minute. They are gathering
Strength for it. But I am /," he
said triumphantly. He shook
violently and gasped for
breath.
I understood now. They
were ail Alaree. It was one
planet-wide, self-aware corpor-
ate entity, composed of any
number of individual cells. H$
had been one of them, but he
had learned independence.
Then he had returned to th<§
group — but he carried with
him the seeds of individualism!
the deadly, contagious genii
we Terrans spread everywhere*
Individualism would be fatal
to such a group mind; they;
were cutting him loose to savQ
themselves. Just as diseased;
ALAREE
105
cells must be exercised for the
good of the entire body, Ala-
ree was inexorably being cut
off from his fellows lest he de-
stroy the bond that made them
one.
I watched him as he sobbed
weakly on my acceleration cra-
dle. "They... are . . . cutting
. , . me'. . . loose . . . now ! "
He writhed horribly for a
brief moment, then relaxed and
sat up on the edge of the cra-
dle. "It is over," he said calm-
ly. "I am fully independent."
I saw a stark aloneness re-
flected in his eyes, and behind
that a gentle indictment of me
for having done this to him.
This world, I realized, was no
place for Earthmen. What had
happened was our fault — mine
more than anyone else's.
"Will yon take me with
you?" he asked again. "If I
stay here, Alaree will kill me."
I scowled wretchedly for a
moment, fighting a brief battle
within myself, then I looked
up. There was only one thing
to do, and I was sure, once I
explained on Earth, that I
would not suffer for it.
I took his hand. It was cold
and limp; whatever he had
just been through, it must have
been hell. "Yes," I said softly.
"You can come with us."
CO ALAREE joined the crew
^ of the Aaron Burr. I told
them about it just before blast-
off, and they welcomed him
aboard in traditional manner.
We gave the sad-eyed little
alien a cabin near the cargo
hold, and he established him-
self quite comfortably. He had
no personal possessions. "It is
not Their custom," he said and
promised that he'd keep the
cabin clean.
He had brought with him a
rough-edged, violet fruit that
he said was his staple food. I
turned it over to Kechnie for
synthesizing and we blasted
off.
Alaree was right at home
aboard the Burr. He spent
much time with me asking
questions.
"Tell me about Earth," Ala-
ree would ask. The alien want-
ed desperately to know what
sort of a world he was going to.
He would listen gravely
while I explained. I told him of
cities and wars and spaceships,
and he nodded sagely, trying
to fit the concepts into a mind
only newly liberated from the
gestalt. I knew he could com-
prehend only a fraction of
what I was saying, but I en-
joyed telling him. It made me
feel ~bs if Earth were coming
closer that much faster, sim-
!06
SATURN
ply to talk about It,
And he went around, beg-
ging everyone. "Tell me about
Earth." They enjoyed telling
him, too, for a while.
Then it began to get a little
tiresome. We had grown accus-
tomed to Alaree's presence on
the ship, flopping around the
corridors doing whatever men-
ial job he had been assigned
to. But though I had told the
men why I had brought him
with us, and though we all pit-
ied the poor lonely creature
and admired his struggle to
survive as an individual entity,
we were slowly coming to the
realization that Alaree was
something of a nuisance
aboard ship.
Especially later, when he be-
gan to change.
Willendorf noticed it first,
twelve days out from Alaree's
planet. "Alaree's been acting
pretty strange these days, sir,"
he told me.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Haven't you spotted it,
sir? He's been moping around
like a lost soul, very quiet, and
withdrawn, like."
"Is he eating well?"
Willendorf chuckled loudly.
"I'll say he is! Kechnie made
up some synthetics based on
that piece of fruit he brought
with him, and he's been stuff-
ing himself wildly. He's gained
ten pounds since he came on
ship. No, it's not lack of
food!"
"I guess not," I said. "Keep
an eye on him, will you? I feel
responsible for his being here,
and I want him to come
through the voyage in good
health."
After that, I began to ob-
serve Alaree more closely my-
self, and I detected the change
in his personality to. He was
no longer the cheerful, child-
like being who delighted in
pouring out questions in end-
less profusion. Now he was
moody, silent, always brood-
ing, and hard to approach.
On the sixteenth day out —
and by now I was worried seri-
ously about him — a new man-
ifestation appeared. I was in
the hallway, heading from my
cabin to the chartroom, when
Alaree stepped out of an al-
cove. He reached up, grasped
my uniform lapel, and, main-
taining his silence, drew my
head down and stared plead-
ingly into my eyes.
Too astonished to say any-
thing, I returned his gaze for
nearly thirty seconds. I peered
into his transparent pupils,
wondering what he was up to.
After a good while had passed,
he released me, and I saw
ALAREE
107
something like a tear trickle
down his cheek.
"What's the trouble, Ala-
ree?"
He shook his head mourn-
fully and shuffled away.
I got reports from the crew-
men thai day and next that he
had been doing this regularly
for the past eighteen hours —
waylaying crewmen, staring
long and deep at them as if
trying to express some un-
speakable sadness, and walk-
ing a' ->y. He had approached
almost everyone on the ship.
I wondered now how wise it
had been to allow an extra-ter-
restrial, no matter how friend-
ly, to enter the ship. There was
no telling what this latest ac-
tion meant.
I started to form a theory.
I suspected what he was aim-
ing- at, and 'the realization
chilled me. But once I reached
my conclusion, there was noth-
ing I could do but wait for con-
firmation.
On the nineteenth day, Ala-
ree again met me in the corri-
dor. This time our encounter
was more brief. He plucked me
by the sleeve, shook his head
sadly and, shrugging his shou-
ders, walked away.
That night, he took to his
cabin, and by morning he was
dead. He had apparently died
peacefully in his sleep.
ii J GUESS we'll never under-
stand him, poor fellow,"
Willendorf said, after we had
committed the body to space.
"You think he had too much
to eat, sir?" ^ .
"No," I said. "It wasn't
that. He was lonely, that's all.
He didn't belong here among
us."
"But you said he had bro-
ken away from that group-
mind," Willendorf objected.
I shook my head. "Not real-
ly. That group-mind arose out
of some deep psychological
and physiological needs of
those people. You can't just
declare your independence and
be able to exist as an individu-
al from then on if you're part
of that group-entity. Alaree
had grasped the concept intel-
lectually, to some extent, but
he wasn't suited for life away
from the corporate mind, no
matter how much he wanted
to be."
"He couldn't stand alone?"
"Not after his people had
evolved that gestalt-setup. He
learned independence from
us," I said. "But he couldn't
live with us, really. He needed
to be part of a whole. He
found out his mistake after he
came aboard, and tried to rem-
108
SATURN
edy things."
I saw Willendorf pale,
"What do you mean, sir?"
"You know what I -mean.
When he came up to us and
stared soulfully into our eyes
—he was trying to form a new
gestalt — out of us\ Somehow
he was trying to link us to-
gether, the way his people had
been linked."
"He couldn't do it, though,"
Willendorf said fervently.
"Of course not. Human be-
ings don't have whatever need
it is that forced those people
to merge. He found that out,
after a while, when he failed
to get anywhere with us."
"He just couldn't do it,"
Willendorf repeated.
"No. And then he ran out of
strength," I said somberly,
feeling the heavy weight of my
guilt. "He was like an organ
removed from a living body. It
can exist for a little while by
itself, but not indefinitely. He
failed to find a new source of
life — and he died." I stared
bitterly at my fingertips.
"What do we call it in my
medical report?" asked Ship
Surgeon Thomas, who had
been silent up till then. "How
can we explain what he died
from?"
"Call it malnutrition," I
said.
THE END
STATEMENT REQUIRED BY THE ACT
OF AUGUST 24, 1913, AS AMENDED
BY THE ACTS OF MARCH 3, 1933,
AND JULY 2, 1946 (Title 39, United
States Cade, Section 233) SHOWING
THE OWNERSHIP, MANAGEMENT,
AND CIRCULATION OF
SATURN MAGAZINE, published bi-
monthly at 1 Appl&ton Street, Holyolte,
Mass., tor Oct. 1, 1957.
1. The name and address of the Editor
and Publisher is: Robert G. Sprout,- 218
West 48th Street, New York 36, N, Y.
2. The owner is: Oandar Publishing
Company, Inc., 218 West -48th Street,
New York 35, N. Y. The names and ad-
dresses of stockholders owning or hold-
ing one percent or more of the total
amount of stock are;
BERNARD BRILL, 218 West 48th
Street, New York 3«, N. Y. ; ROBERT
JO. 8PROUL, 218 West 48th Street, New
York 36, New York.
3. The known bondholders, mortga-
gees, and other security holders owning
or holding 1 percent or more of total
amounts of bonds, mortgages, or other
securities are: None.
4. Paragraphs 2 and 5 include, 5n
eases where the stockholder or security
holder appears upon the books of the
company as trustee or in any other
fiduciary relation, the name of the per-
son or corporation for whom such trus-
tee is acting: also the statements in the
two paragraphs show the affiant's full
knowledge and belief as to the circum-
stances and conditions under which
stockholders and security holders who do
not appear upon -the books of the com-
pany as trustees, hold stock and secur-
ities in a capacity othar than that of a
bona fide owner.
ROBERT C. SPROUtr
Editor and Publisher
Sworn to and subscribed before TB6
this 27th d*ay of September, 1967,
NATHAN POMERANTZ
(My commission expires March St,
1958. >
SHAGGY DOG
by CHARLES E FRITCH
Did you hear the story about the dog that went
in a bar and asked for a drink? Trouble was
this, darn pooch just couldn't get drunk.
« A HELL OF A THING,"
the stranger said irri-
tably. The fat rnan with the
beer looked at him.
"A hell of a thing," he
elaborated, hitting the bar with
his open palm, "when a de-
cent, respectful law-abiding
citizen can't even hang on a
good one!"
"Like a double this time?"
the bartender said helpfully.
"Sure," the stranger said,
waving an amicable hand.
"Make it a triple, what do I
care."
"You'll care tomorrow morn-
ing," the fat man said.
"Not me," the stranger said,
sure of it. He, squinted at the
wall chronometer: hours 2346,
day 16, month November, year
1976. "I've been drinking now
for two hours and a half, with
no success. I'd like to get good
and stinkin' drunk; I'd like to
use vile language and sing
'Sweet Adeline' and tell dirty
stories. I'd like to have a hang-
over a mile long." He shook his
head sadly. "But I won't."
The fat man sighed and con-
templated his beer. "You're
lucky then. I'll feel lousy on
this stuff."
The stranger grunted.' He
waved an arm to indicate the
saloon, with its clean mahog-
any bar, its plush carpeting,
its red leather walls. "Don't
you guys ever get sick and
tired of this?"
The fat man looked blank.
"I don't get you," he said.
"Sick and tired of what?"
"Yeah," the bartender mut-
tered, leaning forward bellig-
erently, "This's a nice, clean
place."
"Sure it is," the stranger ad-
109
no
SATURN
mitted, "and that's just-it. You
know why it's a nice, clean
place?"
The fat man shrugged and
hazarded an answer. "Well,
the Sterilizing Lights are al-
ways on, and the Sweepers
come out whenever anyone
drops anything, and — "
"Sure," the stranger explod-
ed, "because a goddamn sys-
tem of electronics makes it
clean, that's why!"
"So what's wrong with
that?" the bartender wanted
to know.
"So nothing's wrong with it
as far as it goes. But it's going
too far. Science is doing too
many things for a man better
than he can do it himself; it
cleans his spills, wipes his nose,
and spanks his bottom, that's
what's wrong. Give me the old
fashioned sloppy saloons of the
1950's, with dried beer on the
bar and pretzels and cigarette
butts on the floor."
He took his whiskey glass
and deliberately tilted it. The
amber liquid spilled over the
edge and dripped on the bar.
"You know what's happen-
ing now, don't you?" he said.
"Under the bat, little stool-
pigeon electrons are rushing
around like crazy, sending
messages to the Sweepers and
the Spongers, and the Polish-
ers, telling them some nasty
human spilled something. Now
watch."
At the far end of the bar
a small door opened in the red
leather wall, and tiny metal in-
sects rushed out toward the
spilled liquid. Some of them
had honey-combed spongeheads
which they dipped rhythmical-
ly into the whiskey as though
quenching a thirst. They
drained it, and then others
with bristly heads that whirled
like brushes whisked past,
leaving the now-clean spot for
the ones with oilspout heads to
spray the bar with a transpar-
ent liquid that hardened and
gleamed.
The stranger watched the
"insects" disappear quietly
into the wall. "Disgusting," he
said.
"Whattaya mean disgust-
ing?" the bartender said in an
unfriendly tone. "I -paid ten
thousand bucks for that. I like
it and so do all my regular
customers. This isn't the dark
ages, buddy; it's 1976. If you
want to be sloppy that's your
business, but running this sa-
loon is my business, and I
don't need help from you."
"You've already had help
from me, ".the stranger said. "I
invented that cleaning system."
"You're kidding," the fat
SHAGGY DOG
,m
man said, impressed.
"I wish I were," the man
said seriously.
"Say," the bartender said,
pointing <a finger of recogni-
tion, "I remember seeing your
picture in the paper a while
ago. Yeah, sure, you're Paul
Williams."
"Sad, but true," the stranger
admitted, staring into his whis-
key glass as though it con-
tained some hidden philosophy.
He raised the glass and jiggled
the fluid in the neon light.
"Paul Albert. Williams, elec-
tronic genius, maker of metal
insects." He set the glass down
and looked up with sudden de-
termination. "You fellows like
to hear a shaggy dog story?"
"Uh, yeah, sure," the bar-
tender said, looking surprised
at the question, "I guess so."
"I've heard most of 'em,"
the fat man said, "but go
ahead."
"Not this one, you haven't."
He reached down to the
floor beside him and brought
up a black satchel, which he
placed on the bar. He opened
it, and out hopped a small,
shaggy dog.
"Forgoshsakes I " the fat man
said.
"Hey, hey," the bartender
said. "Get that mutt outa here.
We don't allow dogs in here,
especially on the bar!"
"How does he breathe in
there?" the fat man wanted to
know, examining the tight
black skin of the satchel.
"He doesn't."
"Now, look, Mac — I mean,
Mr. Williams — even if you
are — "
"Simmer down, I'm not vio-
lating sanitary laws. Fido here
doesn't have any fleas."
"No?" the bartender said,
unconvinced. "Then how come
he's scratching?"
"Because he's a dog, that's
why. Here, look at this."
He turned the dog over on
its back and parted the shaggy
fur.
The fat man leaned forward
and nearly toppled from his
stool. "Forgoshsakes," he said.
The bartender's mouth fell
open. "You mean — "
Williams nodded. "The dog's
a robot. Man's best friend here
is a machine."
"But it looks so real," the
fat man said, amazed. The dog
righted itself somewhat indig-
nantly, shook, and trotted over
to lick the fat man's hand. He
felt the fur, ran his finger
gently on the damp nose. "It
even feels real."
The bartender's eyes glowed
with wonder. "I never would've
112
SATURN
believed it. How did you
ever — "
"Hard work, persistence,
and clean living/' the scientist
said, and drank down the liq-
uid in his glass. "I'll try an-
other of those. Hell of a thing
when a man can't even get
stinking drunk!"
"What about the dog?" the
fat man prompted.
"Oh, yes, our shaggy dog
story. Well, it's pretty simple
actually. It was a natural step
in a whole stairway of natural
steps; that's the way these
things happen. You keep go-
ing and don't know when to
stop.
"I started out on a small
scale, with little blobs of metal,
and gave them a sort of elec-
tronic life; I guess I was sur-
prised then they actually start-
ed taking themselves seriously.
Then I started giving them
special functions, reasons for
existing, by building them with
metal legs and brushes and
mops; that resulted in the 'in-
sects' you have in your clean-
ing wall there."
The bartender shoved a full
glass on the bar. "This one's
on the house."
"Thanks." The scientist
smiled wanly. "Dammit, but I
wish I could get drunk!"
"And then," the fat man
said, fascinated, "you tried
building larger robots."
"Right. That's where Fido
came in. He had a real-life
counterpart, you know." He
sipped slowly at the whiskey
this time. "Or no,, of course,
you couldn't know. But he did
just the same. A small, lovable,
shaggy animal that — " He
stopped, suddenly embar-
rassed, tilted his head and the
glass, and the liquid was gone
again. "Fill it up to the top
this time. Maybe I can get
psychologically drunk after a
while."
"Lord," the bartender said,
"you'll be sick as a dog tomor-
row."
"Little Fido here doesn't
ever get sick as a dog." He
ruffled the animal's fur affec-
tionately. "That's the advan-
tage of being mechanical. Of
course, you don't feel hungry
either, but you eat dog food
because that's what dogs are
supposed to do, and you romp
around and play like you're
having fun when you really
aren't, and you stop and sniff
trees and hydrants without
knowing why. Oh, it's a dog's
life, all right."
"Uh, what happened to the
— uh, real Fido?" the fat man
asked.
"Dead,"' the scientist said,
SHAGGY DOG
113
looking into his refilled glass
and remembering.
"Oh, sorry," the fat man
said, and somehow he really
was.
"Dead, and it's my fault."
The fat man looked away.
"It was strange. I made a
mechanical Fido and then the
real Fido ceased to be*. Sure,
he was hit by a car and that's
as good an excuse as any, but
there wasn't any real reason
for it. Apparently this world
is set up to accommodate only
one Fido, so naturally the
less than perfect one — the
natural one — couldn't exist. I
wasn't very happy to find that
out."
"Yeah," the bartender said,
watching the mechanical dog
thump its furry tail against
the bar. He wet his lips.
"That's too bad."
"Did you make any more?"
the fat man asked.
"Yes. I should have stopped
probably, but I wanted to
avenge Fido's death, to make it
worthwhile. I wanted to lick
this thing; I wanted to make
mechanical life supplement hu-
man life, not destroy it." He
shrugged helplessly. "So far I
haven't succeeded. That's one
reason I don't exactly approve
of all this. Science is much too
capable at replacing human
things with mechanical things.'*
He shook his head disparag-
ingly, gathered up the wrig-
gling dog and placed it careful-
ly in the satchel,
"It'll stop before it goes too
far," the fat man said trust-
ingly. "There're some things
they can't replace."
"Sure," the bartender
agreed, grinning, "they invent-
ed the phonograph, but I still
have my wife/'
The fat man glared at him.
"Another drink?"
"No, thanks," the scientist
said, "I guess there's not much
point in it." He put some bills
on the bar, and a dozen "me-
chanical insects flew from the
wall, picked up the money, and
took it away.
"Hey!" the bartender said,
too surprised to move.
The fat man* guffawed.
"Next, they'll be learning to
mix drinks and you'll be re-
placed!"
"Sorry," the scientist said,
extending more bills, "I guess
I've only got dirty money."
"It's better .than nothing,'*
the bartender said, taking it.
"I guess maybe — -nothing per-
sonal, understand — but I guess
maybe those mechanical gad-
gets have faults, too."
The scientist nodded. "Keep
saying that, friend, and maybe
114
SATURN
someday you'li want to tear
down that wall." He walked
away, then paused uncertainly
at the dooi. He hesitated some
more; then he slowly opened
his shirt to reveal the skin un-
derneath. "And maybe this'U
help you make the decision."
The fat man and the bar-
tender stared.
The man turned and walked
out, satchel swinging.
"What do you make of
that? ; ' the fat man wondered,
after awhile.
"The guy's a crackpot," the
bartender said knowingly. "I
just remember reading in the
paper last night that Paul
Williams jumped out of a win-
dow. Suicide. This one's a fake.
Me tear down a ten thousand
buck wall? He's got rocks in
his head. You don't suppose a
normal person would do that'
to himself, do you?"
£ T guess not," the fat man
said thoughtfully. "No, I guess
not. Look, give me another
beer will you?"
The bartender gave him one,
but he accidentally spilled
some on the bar, and the me-
chanical insects came whirling
out again, sponging and drying
and polishing.
"He had enough to make £t
dozen guys drunk," the bar-
tender said. "The guy just
isn't human."
"You know what I'm going
to do?" the fat man said with
a sudden resolve. "I'm going to
do what he couldn't do. I'm
going to get good and drunk
tonight. I'm going to sing songs
and tell dirty stories. And I'm
going to have myself one lulu
of a hangover tomorrow morn-
ing and enjoy every painful
minute of it."
The bartender stared at him.
"Rut why?"
"I don't know why," the fat
man said, "and I'm not going
to give myself time to think of
a reason. Set up another beer,
and make it quick, huh?"
But even later in the night,
when he couldn't remember a
great many things, he still
wasn't able to forget the shag-
gy dog and its master who
couldn't get dnvnk and who
had a screw in his stomach in-
stead of a navel!
THE END
A Take SATELLITE
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tion masterpieces which you
want in addition to "Satellite!"
One book will be considered your
first selection for which you'll be
billed only $1 plus a few cents
postage. The other 2 are FREE
as a membership GIFT. Every
month you will be offered the
cream of the new $2.50 to $'3.95
science-fiction books— for only $1
each. You take only those books
you really want— as few as four
a year. But this offer may be
withdrawn at any time. So mail
coupon RIGHT NOW to:
SCIENCE-FICTION BOOK CLUB
Dept. STB- TO. Garden City, N. Y.
SCIENCE-FICTION BOOK CLUB
Dept. STR-10, Garden Cify, N. Y.
Enroll me as a member, and rush me my full-length hand-
somely bound copy or "SATELU IE I" plus the two books indi-
cated below. Bill me only $1 (plus few cents shipping charges).
Every month send me the Clu-b's free bulletin, "Things to
Come," so that I may decide whether or not I wish to receive
the corning monthly selection described therein. For each book
I accept, I will pay only $1 plus shipping. I do NOT have to
take a book every month (onjy four during each year I am a
nu'mher 1 — and I may resign at any time after accepting four
select inns.
SPECIAL NO- RISK GUARANTEE: If not delighted, I may
rciurn all bonk? in 7 days, pay nothing, and this membership
will be cancelled.
□ Astounding S-F Anthology Q Dragon in the $ea
□ Best from Fan'asy and S-F □ Omnibus of S-F
□ Best S-F Stories and Novels □ Treasury of S-F Classics
Name
Address—
City
. (please print)
. Zone
. State-
Selection pric» in Canada $1.1-0 plus shipping.
Address Science-Fiction Btrafc Club (Canada), 105 Band St.
Toronto 2. (Wood only in Continental U. S. and Canada)
¥@p Experts R®wel
cf s @n the
L| mm
mm 1
The fascinating sfranger-fhan-ficfion
story of our satellite
... authoritative facts not even available
' in technical /ourna/s
STARTLING HEADLINES have
recently announced that
the U. S. will begin man's ex-
ploration of space by launch-
ing a satellite— within the next
two years! But just how will
this fantastic object work?
What will it accomplish?
Here is the first book to sup-
ply all the answers — more Com-
pletely, more nc-
curately than
technical jour-
nals themselves! Erik Bergaust
and William Beller disclose in
clear detail the present rocket
and satellite program, and what
iue first satellites will tell us —
■about the moon, the planets, the
sun; about predicting- weather
far in advance; about mysterious
cosmic rays; about many other
factors which affect our lives.
This book of astounding facts
is every bit as exciting as the
most thrilling science-
fiction.
And the wealth of
information reveal-
ed here for the first
time — will amaze
and fascinate youl
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